Heart, We Will Forget Him
by jappy13
Summary: Unrequited love. She knew it was stupid, pointless, hopeless. That's why she would find her own way in the world. She would come out of this alive and kicking. And she would survive.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Harry Potter, to any of the characters, nor to any of the wonderful creations of JK Rowling.

**Heart, We Will Forget Him.**

By Emily Dickinson.

_Heart, we will forget him,_

_You and I, tonight!_

_You must forget the warmth he gave,_

_I will forget the light._

_When you have done pray tell me,_

_Then I, my thoughts, will dim._

_Haste! Lest while you're lagging_

_I may remember him!_

**Chapter 1: The End of the War**

Harry sat still and watched. Watched the chaos around him. He was sitting in the Great Hall of Hogwarts and the War was over. He had managed to find a space by the west-side wall and had his legs had almost collapsed as he pulled himself to the floor to sit. Everyone was running around in disorganised chaos, counting heads and embracing those they thought dead.

There were brothers and sisters and friends and relatives desperately calling out each other's names – with frantic hope that the one they searched for would find them and would be on two feet, whole-of-body. There were children, and adults, and those in-between, some who had tear streaked faces, bloodied and bruised and wearing the physical signs of a battle well fought.

Harry himself was a sorry sight, and if he had looked into a mirror at that moment he would barely have recognised himself. After the past year of travelling around the countryside, and only recently having been reintroduced to a razor, not to mention having just participated in one of the greatest battles the wizarding world had ever born witness to, Harry's appearance was very much worse for wear. His unruly hair was a wild mess, a streaky mixture of blood, grime and sweat clung to his face, his clothes, and every inch of his exposed skin.

He was a living collection of cuts, scrapes and bruises. His infamous lightening bolt scar on his forehead was reddened, inflamed and had obviously at some point of the battle burst open and started bleeding as it was now smeared with clotted blood. And it now had a sister scar on his chest, for had he cared to look underneath his ragged t-shirt was another lightening scar across his chest, much larger than the one on his forehead. Just above that was yet another scar to add to his collection – a very dark blackened circle marred his upper chest and was surrounded by angry welts around its circumference. Yes. Harry certainly looked as if he had been through a war.

But no it was over. Truly over. The wizarding war that had scarred the world, that had invaded and infested every aspect of happiness and had loomed over every witch and wizard for the past two decades, the effects of which could even be felt in the muggle world by the non-magical folk completely unawares of the cause of their despressing feelings, that war was over. Sure, there would be years and years of tidying up, of reconstructing the government, of resurrecting from the ashes the foundations for a new wizarding existence. There would be many years of ensuring those involved in the war reaped the consequences, of ensuring that the scaffolding that had enabled such a dark overlord to rule was never again allowed to occur. Death Eaters and their families would need to be found, trialled and punished. Funerals would be planned. Families reunited. Loved ones returned from their hiding spots. Muggle-borns and muggle relatives reintroduced to the magical world. Memory charms would need to be reversed.

But it was definitely over.

So why didn't he feel elation or something?

For Harry Potter it was as if he was watching the world through a bubble, or through one of those annoying smudged windows that Aunt Petunia had always insisted upon in the bathrooms – that he had cleaned a million times over and over and could never figure out why they needed to be cleaned if you couldn't see anything clearly through them anyway.

Aunt Petunia.

The Dursley's.

Someone needed to let the Dursley's know that they were safe. That they no longer had to put up with whatever measures had been taken to protect them. He smiled briefly then – there was no doubt in his mind that Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia and Dudley were in their own version of hell, surrounded by magical protections whilst the war had been happening. He wasn't sure where they had been taken, he hadn't really cared. But he also had requested that they be protected by the Order, that the last living link to his mother be preserved.

He knew Ron thought he was nutters, asking for the Dursley's to have special protection. Ron had always been quite vocal in his feelings towards his relatives. Hermioned had too, in her way. She hadn't ever outrightly called the Dursley's 'sodding evil pig-faced warts' like Ron had, but the way she scrunched her nose in distaste when, on the rare occasion, he mentioned his aunt or uncle or cousin, or the way she politely enquired after his summer holidays how he was and then managed to manoeuvre the conversation away from his summer experiences to the upcoming year, was enough to let Harry know her thoughts on the matter too, and that she suspected at least a little of the torment he went through at the Dursleys. He couldn't really blame either of them for their feelings.

The Dursley's weren't exactly his cup of tea either, and certainly weren't the epitome of hospitality. He certainly wouldn't be volunteering them as the face of muggle-wizard relations anytime in the near future. And he was quite sure that they were going to be thrilled to say good riddance once and for all not only to their weird nephew's world, but to their weird nephew himself.

Harry sighed. Never mind them, he thought to himself. He'd deal with the Dursley problem some other time.

For now he just wanted to sleep.

He suddenly yawned, overcome with tiredness all of a sudden. He hadn't realised how tired he was! Suddenly his eyes seemed so heavy he could barely keep them over. He closed them – just resting them for a second he thought.

What he thought was a second at least. In reality it was probably much, much longer.

A tap on his shoulder.

He forced his eyes open and looked up into the worn and tired face of Professor McGonagall. She smiled down at him and motioned for him to follow. He stood up and barely registered his steps and he placed one foot in front of the other mechanically as she led him out of the Great Hall and through the dark, destruction-filled corridors of Hogwarts. The corridors were a mess. Broken glass, fallen walls lined the floor. Columns and shattered statues, paintings hung unevenly with their occupants hiding behind chairs, or straightening their possessions, or in some paintings simply hanging onto random objects that had been painted in attempting to stay in the frame. Many frames were simply devoid of inhabitants, their occupants most likely having fled to far areas of the school, or to their other portraits in some other place in the wizarding world.

There was a stench that lingered, it made Harry's stomach turn. It smelt of charred meat. Burnt flesh. Small fires could be seen where wayward spells had obviously hit flammable objects. Embers of burn items burnt slowly red. A smokey haze filled the air and added to the desolate atmosphere. For all that they should be celebrating the atmosphere reminded anyone who needed reminding that there were losses that had been suffered too.

McGonagall didn't utter a word, and her lips were drawn tight as she led him through the castle. She ushered him along the corridors and he followed her lead blindly. Whenever they reached a turning point he waited for her to nudge him along in a direction. He didn't even try to register which way they went, didn't register his surroundings, and didn't acknowledge the surprised looks, or smiles, or teary faces that looked at them as they passed.

Surprised, he found that they were at the portrait of the Fat Lady who, again wordlessly, opened.

Harry didn't ask questions. He was too tired to even be coherent in his thoughts. He was too tired to even acknowledge to the wizened witch that she had taken him to the only place he really wanted to be right now...near a bed. He climbed through the portrait hole, and without realising or knowing how he made it there he managed to make his way through the common room.

The common room itself looked just as Harry had remembered it. He hadn't been here for almost a year now, although it seemed so much longer. It seemed as if eons had passed since his carefree days where he had just been able to spend hours down by the fires playing chess with Ron, or pretending to study under Hermione's constant prodding. There were a few chessboards set up, Harry noticed, and even an unfinished game of Exploding Snap. There were a few books set out around the room, and it looked as if the last occupants of the room had abandoned their pursuits in haste.

Harry climbed over an upturned chair and headed up the staircase towards his dorm. He wondered if it was still his dorm. With his absence for the most recent school year would the dorm that previously had 'belonged' to Harry and his year-mates have been given to incoming students?

Harry opened the door. It appeared as if he could still claim his bed as his. There didn't appear to be anyone's claim to the two beds that Ron and he had previously used. In fact only two of the beds appeared to have any sign of life – if you could call it that. One had a poster of the Puddlemere United quiddich team by the bed, and another bed had a wilted and obviously neglected pot on the bedside table containing a plant that Harry could only hazard a guess at. Herbology really was never his thing. But whatever it was had obviously suffered as the purple bell-like flower drooped and its gold-tinted leaves seemed to have taken on a rusty sheen.

Harry made his way to 'his' bed, managed to pull back the sheets. They were the same red sheets that he remembered. Clean and red, with gold linings. The coverlet was soft, clean, inviting. He toyed with the idea of leaving his shoes on, but after a year of living in a tent thought the least he could do on his re-introduction to humanity was to remove them before hopping under the covers. He lay back, and was entirely unprepared for how quickly he gave into sleep. He didn't even have a chance to remove his glasses as his leaden eyes needed no help to close and he succumbed to a deep and blessedly dreamless sleep.

* * *

><p>Ginny could feel a deep stabbing pain in her chest – she knew its cause was the suppressed sobs that threatened to escape.<p>

She tried to focus, tried to put all her effort and energy into her breathing. Breathe in. One, two, three. Breathe out. One, two three.

How could this happen? She dared to glance down again and felt the racking heaving in her chest threaten to escape again. She bit down. Hard.

Down at her feet was her brother Fred. Despite the blood on his face and shirt he could have been asleep. His red hair was flattened against the floor. Someone had placed his arms crossed against his chest. Beside him George wept openly, with a deep cavernous despair that was evident to anyone that heard him. For that one brother this loss truly was like losing a part of him. Ginny couldn't even remember the last time the twins had been separated. Actually she doubted that they had _ever_ been separated. And now, for George to lose his twin, well. Well. There were not words to describe the bond that had been lost.

Ginny couldn't even chance to speak, she suspected that if she were to open her mouth it would not be words that would come out.

Breathe in. One, two, three. Breathe out. One two three. In, two, three. Out, two three.

And her mother...her poor mother! Ginny was standing in the middle of the Great Hall, vaguely aware that around her people swarmed. But here, here in the centre the Weasley's had claimed this part of the hall as their own. Here they were in solitude. Her mother clung to her with one arm, clasping Ginny's sweat and blood-soaked t-shirt so tightly in her right hand that Ginny could see that her fingers had turned white from lack of circulation. Her father held her mother from the other side, and she suspected that without her father's support her mother would crumple in a pile beside her baby boy.

Molly Weasley had known from the outset of the war that the chances of her entire family's survival were slim. They were a large family – seven children! And not only that but they were right in the centre from the start. Not that she would have changed that at all, how could they have done anything but stand by Harry's side, how could they have continued to hold the Weasley name in pride had they done anything but give their best efforts to fight the dark. They were a family of the light, the Weasley's always had been, and the Weasley's would continue to be. So there was no doubt that they were at risk of losing one of their own.

But still, to lose her son!

Ginny buried her face in her mother's shoulder, trying to find some comfort amongst all this sadness. There was none to be found. Her brother. Dead. Remus and Tonks. Dead. Sirius. Dead. Dumbledore. Dead. And the list went on and on and on, she thought. How many had given their lives to this outcome?

Too many.

But still, it was over now wasn't it? The light had won.

No. Harry had won.

Harry.

Her breath caught in her throat as she frantically realised she didn't know where Harry was. He had been alive! He had lived again! He had died, or at least she had thought he had died, and then he had appeared again alive!

How was that possible?

Who cared how that was possible! He was alive!

But where? She glanced around the hall, still supporting her mother one on side. On the other Ron stood with Hermione clinging to him. Ron was looking down at George who was still weeping over his brother's still form. Ron's eyes looked vacant, as if he was seeing but wasn't really seeing. Ginny could tell that Ron wasn't really there at that moment. He had retreated inside himself. And she knew that the best thing for him at this moment was the brunette who clung to his side, moulding herself to him supporting him in his grief.

But where was Harry?

She looked around searching. Searching each face, each back, each body. He was alive. But where? She couldn't see him anywhere. Her innate ability to zero in on where Harry was, her seemingly instinctual Harry-Radar seemed to have deserted her at what was a most critical time. Where was he?

She detached herself from her mother and stumbled across the rumble-strewn floor. Chairs and overturned tables, smouldering piles of ashes and wood, across mounds of rubble Ginny climbed and weaved and pushed. Through other families clutching at their own losses, past friends embracing in relief, through couples simply holding on to each other in the midst of such turmoil. She couldn't see him anywhere. She couldn't sense him. And it frightened her all of a sudden.

Ginny had spent the past six years with Harry at the centre of her universe. Well, if she was honest with herself she had spent her entire life with Harry at the centre of her universe. But the past six years had certainly revolved around one scraggly messy-haired teen. And although she no longer harboured that stupid blushing-inducing, elbow-in-the-butterdish, frankly nauseating crush she had once had, she still had some part of her that always knew exactly where and what the young Mr Potter was doing.

Well, except for the past year when he was off traipsing about doing goodness-knows-what with his two best friends and she was here stuck at Hogwarts spending each day simply trying to survive the sadistic punishments of Death-Eater fiends and helping the other students push through relatively unharmed.

Except for that, the thought. Except for the past year. Maybe her senses had simply become dulled. She was just being stupid, she knew. But still, she let out a huge breathe of relief when she saw the back of an unruly black mop of hair on the head of a figure she would know anywhere. He was with McGonagall and was heading out the back of the hall.

She couldn't blame them really. Harry _had_ just killed the most evil dark lord known to the world, and had ended a two-decade-long war. He was probably exhausted. No wonder he was making his way out the back.

She mentally slapped herself for her silliness in getting so worked up, and more importantly for deserting her family in this time of need. She looked back. They needed her. They needed Weasleys. That group of red-heads stood out like beacons in the middle of the calamity of the Great Hall.

But still.

She turned back to the doorway she had seen Harry leave through.

Harry was family too wasn't he?

Mind made up she followed where she had seen McGonagall and Harry leave, wove her way through the maze of hallways and stairways and broken statues. She suspected where they were going, because if McGonagall had any sense she would know what Harry needed. Sleep. Bed. Comfort. And McGonagall was one of the most sensible witches Ginny had ever met. Was one of the very few people that Ginny let herself trust.

In fact, in the past year McGonagall and Ginny had developed something akin to a friendship despite their difference in years. Where Ginny was young and feisty and temper-prone, McGonagall was cool-headed but with a temper to match when she wanted to. And Ginny had spent a fair amount of time in McGonagall's office this year, hiding from detentions with the Carrows. When she had been able to McGonagall had tried to switch the odd detention with the Carrows to one under her tutorage. And Ginny had loved those detentions.

Because when Ginny managed to find herself in McGonagall's office it was like an escape from a world where she sometimes felt more than a little overwhelmed. In the Gryffindor common room people looked to her and Neville for instruction, for support, for stability. She and Neville were supposedly the ones to turn to when someone was hurt, when someone was suffering the after-tremors of a cruciatus, when someone found out that their parents had died. It was Ginny and Neville that had replaced the void that had been left when Harry had not returned. They were somehow put on the recently-vacated pedestal. And Ginny didn't mind. Not really. She felt like she should be doing something, and caring and organising the students was something she was able to do.

She was more than happy to reignite the DA with Neville, be his co-leader in such times. She and Neville had recruited, and trained, and organised the students. Preparing them for the worst. Trying to equip them to the best of their knowledge with skills they may need. Making sure that their shield charms were up to scratch. That they knew to stick in groups. That everyone had a buddy system. That muggle-borns were paired with pure-bloods so there was less chance of random disappearances. That the lies the Carrows taught in muggle-studies and proven wrong, so that students were not swayed.

She and Neville. It had been one heck of a team. And they had done well she thought. During the battle there were moments when, in a lull of activity, she had been able to glance around and was truly proud of the students that she had helped guide. She had seen her 'students' shooting spells alongside full-grown wizards and aurors.

But even then sometimes she just wanted to feel her age, to be a girl. And McGonagall had allowed that. Countless evenings she had spent curled up on McGonagall's couch, sipping hot cocoa and sharing biscuits. What had started out at an escape from cruciatus-inflicted detentions had ended up being evenings that were truly enjoyable. Neither McGonagall nor Ginny had expected to develop such a friendship, but nevertheless both had welcomed it. McGonagall, Ginny suspected, was just as lonely. With Dumbledore gone and the Carrows and Snape infecting the school the teachers were all on their own too. And McGonagall had seemed to relish the chance to play a simple game of chess, or cards, or simply tell Ginny about her times in school or her adventures as a twenty-something witch making her way in the world.

And Ginny had leant heavily on McGonagall as a mother-type figure when her own mother was so out of reach for her during the school year. When communicating back home was impossible due to her close circumstances to Harry and the inevitable searching of her mail that would occur. Ginny had loved her times spent in the warmth of McGonagall's office.

And so Ginny knew her professor would guide Harry to comfort, to a place he was familiar with. She knew where they were headed. She reached the portrait hole of the Fat Lady who swung open to her without even needing to think of a possible password (it had been a while since she had been out of the Room of Requirement). She made her way up the boys staircase and peered into the room where she knew Harry would be.

He was there, like she had expected. She sat next to the bed for a while then. Fully aware of how creepy it is to have someone watch you when you sleep, but also unable to draw her eyes away from his face. A face she hadn't seen for a year now. She took in every feature, every line, every scratch. She felt drunk on the sight of him.

God damn it. She hated that she felt like this sometimes! Hated it and loved it. Abhorred it in her weakness and treasured it.

She tentatively reached out her hands and drew off his glasses. Folded them, placed them on his bedside. She drew back his hair to reveal the scar that emblazoned his forehead. That stupid scar. So many people had used it as an excuse, an excuse to place the weight of the world on a young boys shoulders. Who knew if it was fair? All she knew was that so many people saw only the scar, they refused to see the boy, the man. She sighed then, put her own head in her hands. She, too, was tired. So tired.

It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair that this had happened to him. To them. It wasn't fair that anyone had died. That Fred was gone. That George no longer had the other half of his soul. That Teddy, little Teddy would never know his parents. And it wasn't fair that so much had been left to such a young man who had never had the chance to have a childhood.

The sobs came then, from deep within her. The racking sobs that heaved her chest and clogged her throat and blinded her. She collapsed in half on herself. Her chest heaved with effort for what seemed like eternity. Tears pooled in her lap. Never ending gasps for air. Uncontrollable. She felt out of control.

And then it stopped. As suddenly as it had started. She sat curled in the chair by Harry's bedside, head in her hands, hair messed and tangled falling around her. Her breathing slowed again. The huge block she had been feeling in her throat, the deep pain in her chest, they had now passed. All that was left was an aching exhaustion. She was so tired, so gut-wrenchingly tired she felt like a chasm was inside her. No. She felt like she _was_ a chasm.

She glanced over at Harry. Still soundly sleeping, dead to the world. She made her way around the other side of the bed and curled up against him. She didn't care what he would think when he woke. She didn't care what anyone would think if they saw here curled against him.

Right then all she wanted was an anchor in this world, all she wanted was to be able to know he was there. That all was going to be okay again. That all this turmoil, this disaster, everything that was wrong and distorted and abhorrent and mutated, it would all finish now. Now they could start again. Now they could rest and then, once rested, they could rebuild. Rebuild what once was, but better. Reconstruct from the foundations a better world, a safer world, a more tolerant world. It would be okay now. Harry was safe. Her family, well...she buried her face into Harry's back and tried to force the tears back again. She closed her eyes, willing them to go away.

Before she knew it she, too, succumbed to the sheer exhaustion. She fell into the deep sleep of someone who had seen a lifetime of tragedies in a very short space of time and lived to tell the tale.


	2. Chapter 2

If Harry had felt surprised when he woke up to see a petit redhead curled against him he never mentioned it. And Ginny never wanted to bring the subject up after that day. Certainly if anyone else who had found their way to the dormitory later that evening had noticed that Harry had turned in his sleep and was clutching the fiery witch to him with something akin to possessiveness then they never mentioned it. Ron had sprawled across his own bed with Hermione within his arms and slept like a dead-man, with the exception of his loud orchestral snores. Neville, too, had found his way to the dormitory eventually and beneath the coverlets of his own safe and secure bed.

If Molly or Arthur had ever mentioned the fact they had, in a frantic moment after searching for their only daughter amid the chaos of the day, come across her in the boys dormitory, if they had mentioned it then maybe Ginny would have acknowledged it too.

But as things happened, no one did mention it. The following day seemed to pass with no mention of where the previous night had been spent. And aside from a quick blush from the bespectacled black-haired boy when Ginny had sat next to him at lunch the following day, and a raised eyebrow and knowing glance from Hermione directed at Ginny, no reference was made to it.

And as the day progressed all thoughts turned from musings on peaceful sleeps instead to less pleasant activities. Such as clearing and identifying bodies. Moving rubble to uncover buried students. Trying to match items of identification to their potential lifeless owners. Writing lists of names of lives lost. Trying to contact those who had fled. Sorting the dark that had fallen from the innocents. Working out which Death Eater names were not accounted for amongst the bodies. Endless tasks that took up endless hours, and that exhausted all those involved.

That one day turned into another, and another, and another.

Over the next few weeks Ginny rarely had a moment alone with Harry at mealtimes, let alone to try to figure out where she stood with him. She had thought for a little while that perhaps he was avoiding her, embarrassed by her. She was embarrassed by herself and her own selfish actions that night after the end of the war. Fancy trying to fill her own void when he had suffered so much – when he had in fact died and come back to life (for that's what it had seemed like and he certainly hadn't denied the stories yet.)

She would blush to herself whenever she thought about how she had caved into weakness, and how she knew she was stronger than that. Hadn't she proven that to herself, to everyone, over the years? Hadn't she proved she was no longer a silly schoolgirl with a schoolgirl crush? And then to go acting like one all over again!

Blerk! It was enough to make her gag!

Next thing she would know she's be making another stupid valentine's card and lining it with stupid bows and pasting stupid glitter on its stupid pink borders.

Stupid.

Ginny huffed with annoyance at herself. She had taken years to build herself up to the strong image she liked to portray. She was strong. She knew it in herself. But she also knew that she had one hell of an Achilles heel when it came to Harry Potter.

Fact: She had grown up playing pretend Mrs-Boy-Who-Lived and forcing her poor dolls to play the part of Harry.

Fact: She had wanted to marry him and have his babies the minute she saw him at the Burrow that first summer.

Fact: They had even dated in Hogwarts.

Fact: She had thought she was falling in love.

But then the war had happened. And Harry's first priority was, and always would be, protecting those around him. Whether he had harboured true feelings for her at some stage or not, the outcome was the same. He had pushed away from her 'for her own good' and then gone off and fought the most evil wizard ever. Perhaps he had loved her in his own way. They had certainly had some fun in the hallways at Hogwarts! But she didn't doubt that even if there had once been some deeper feelings between them, everything that they had gone through since had driven a wedge between them and made acting on anything impossible.

Harry certainly didn't give her a second glance anymore. He just ploughed on in determination each day. He was there, helping coordinate the Hogwarts site. Helping and arranging meetings between remaining Order members, being called upon to give expert witness accounts to the activities of Death Eaters. He and Kingsley were constantly being called to meetings – Kingsley being the current standing Minister until a vote was held once everything settled down. Ron and Hermione were often called off to those meetings too.

She knew everyone was doing their utmost to bring some semblance of normality back to the world. Merlin knew she was giving every spare minute, every aching muscle, every effort of her own to bringing her beloved school back to life. The goal, though unspoken, was to have Hogwarts back to at least a liveable state by the time the next school year began. What better way to start a year than by kicking it off with the next generation of witches and wizards wide-eyed and bushy-tailed ready to take on the world, or at least the mysteries of Hogwarts.

And Ginny loved the fact that she could turn up each day at Hogwarts and be given a task, no matter how menial, and she could devote every thought of the next nine or ten hours to that one task. It meant she had very little time to think...and even less time to brood on things she just couldn't, or wouldn't, face right now. She could ignore everyone and everyone else's problems, she could even ignore her own. Instead she could just take apart a pile of rubble, stone by ruddy stone, or she could choose a blood-stained wall and clean it.

Today she was placed on the schoolgrounds near Hagrid's hut. Giant chunks of earth had been gorged out of the ground, the tidy paths no longer existed and had been replaced by upturned trees and stones, turning what had once been a tidy English landscape into a rugged war-zone. Hagrid's hut no longer existed as it had once been, instead being reduced to a burnt and empty shell of a ruin.

Ginny wiped the back of her sleeve across her forehead, it was hot and tiring work. She glanced over at Hagrid and grinned when he saw her looking and winked. He was lifting by hand many of the larger clumps of debris and clearing them into a pile nearby. The great half-giant of a man had proven time and time again his fierce loyalty to the Light side, and most importantly to Harry.

Ginny's heart stilled and her breath caught in her throat as, unbidden, the vivid image of Hagrid carrying Harry's lifeless body at The Battle appeared forefront in her mind. What an awful moment that had been. To have the man she loved so much, and that the world looked to as a representative of all they fought for, to have that hope destroyed in that one moment...

She shook her head of the image. It was thoughts like this that kept intruding in her mind. Kept threatening to reduce her to a sorry state if she wasn't careful. Harry had survived. She had to remember the survivors, if she were to think too long about those that didn't fare so well she really _would_ fall to pieces.

She gritted her teeth and continued her work.

...

Harry sat in silence. He stared blankly at the colourful stone paperweight holding down a large pile of reports on the Minister's desk. He could have sworn that he had just seen the paperweight open an eyelid lazily and blink at him. But then he had looked more closely and thought he must be imagining it – he wasn't exactly getting his daily quota of sleep at the moment.

It blinked again.

Harry looked again, startled out of his musings. It _had_ blinked!

Kingsley Shacklebolt looked up from his work at his desk to the boy, or rather man, that sat there. He had heard Harry's movement and looked to see what had caught his eye.

"It's a pet rock. My sister gave it to my father when we were younger, and he in turn gave it to me".

Harry looked confused. "Sir, we have pet rocks in the muggle world, but they're just jokes"

"No Harry. Most of the pet rocks you have in the muggle world really _are_ alive, it's just they know better than to open their eyes with muggles about. They don't do much really, except serve as nifty paperweights which is why they're really only ever seen for that purpose in offices."

Harry gaped at him.

"They've been around for centuries. I think the muggles started using them a while back too, but the truth that they're living creatures has really just became a fable to muggles." Kingsley explained with a smile.

Harry had an unpleasant crawling sensation in his stomach. He had had a pet rock once, it had been given to Dudley by one of his father's business associates. Dudley had quickly realised how pointless that gift was – particularly when he had no piles of paperwork as he got Harry to do the majority of his schoolwork – and had instead found a better use for it as an implement in Harry Hunting.

Harry had liked the pretty colours of the almost-see-through rock and had kept it hidden away in his closet, not wanting Dudley to know that something he had thrown away was actually appreciated by his scrawny cousin.

Harry now gulped, wondering where that pet rock had gone.

Kingsley finished off the letter he was writing with a flourished signature and then put his quill down and looked at Harry. Harry was looking much better than he had a few weeks ago, when Kinglsey had first had the opportunity to seen him after The Battle, but he was still looking drawn and weary.

Kingsley sighed. "Harry," he started.

Harry looked up. He had been studying the rather unusual pattern of dragons on the carpet. It was a design consisting of two red dragons head-to-tail breathing fire on each other.

"Harry, I know you've been getting really bored coming into the ministry. But I do appreciate you being here to help with all the rounding up. I know you would rather be helping your friends up at Hogwarts, or even just back at home sleeping, but having you here at the ministry means we are able to tie up a lot of loose ends."

Harry nodded as Kingley motioned for him to get up, and together they walked to a meeting in one of the conference rooms adjacent to Kingsley's office.

Since he had fought Voldemort that last time he had been to too many meetings to count. Too many long and boring discussions between politicians and ministry workers, and usually about things that were way beyond his bubble of experience. He knew nothing of taxes and fund accounts and treasuries. He knew nothing about the inner workings of the government, and had sat through numerous long conversations about the Wizengamot, the Old Houses, the Guilds and endless other organisations and associations.

It really made no sense to him. And to be frank he didn't really care.

But he sat through it because he saw how the others looked at him. When he walked into a meeting and sat down everyone hushed. And when a meeting began to get out of control the Minister was able to gain some semblance of organisation again just by asking Harry his opinion on the matter at hand.

Harry hadn't yet told them his _true_ opinion. He didn't think they'd appreciate it.

Instead he nodded and usually gave a few words which didn't really mean anything.

Maybe if he could bring himself to care he would listen and pay attention. He was sure what they discussed was important. What could be more important than providing the foundations for a brand new, transparent, _honest_ Ministry of Magic?

But in truth Harry just didn't have the energy for it. He couldn't bring himself to care for any of their problems at all. He was just tired. He had helped bring down Voldemort hadn't he? Why couldn't things just go back to normal, the way they were...well, minus the Dark Lords and giant snakes and such...

He smirked to himself, things hadn't every really _been_ normal in his life, had they?

But now that the war was over he had kind of hoped for some peaceful nights by the fire at the Burrow, watching Ron best Hermione at wizards chess every time – it _was_ the only thing Hermione didn't seem to have a knack for, well, that and flying.

But instead he had found himself stuck in endless talks that seemed to go in circles. It seemed like exactly the same conversation day after day. One person would start by saying something about how they thought the new ministry should be run, and then someone else would counter with something about the old ministry and how they didn't want to go down that path again, then there would be a bunch of arguments from all different sides, and then, finally, someone would end the meeting and they would have achieved nothing, and things would continue no different to how they were before the meeting.

It was enough to make you tear your hair out.

Or in Harry's case, it was enough to be so bored that you were reciting the twelve different uses of dragons blood under your breath.

And after all those tedious meetings he went back to the burrow where he sat around the silent dinner table, eating whatever meal Mrs Weasley had managed to put together. More often than not the table overflowed with food, as Mrs Weasley seemed to be dealing with the death of her son by avoiding it all together. When he woke up in the morning he could hear the rattle of pots and pans from the kitchen as Mrs Weasley cooked, and she was usually still up pottering around the kitchen well after he had gone to bed.

Dinners were the worst though. The table was silent. George still hadn't come out of his room, and everybody would silently eat their meal with eyes downcast, desperately looking anywhere but at the empty places. Sometimes Mr Weasley would try a weak attempt to engage someone in conversation. But each time the recipient of his question would simply stare blankly back at him, and the conversation would dissolve.

It was bloody awful.

Harry hated every minute. He hated the ministry meetings. He hated the dinners at the burrow. He hated going to bed and lying on his back in Ron's room, watching the ceiling and counting endlessly in an attempt to bore himself to sleep. He usually reached mid-eight thousands before he nodded off, and that was on a good night. On the worst nights, the nights where the faces of the dead haunted his peripheral vision no matter which way he turned, he didn't get any sleep. He would lie awake listening to Ron's snores and trying to keep himself sane through counting.

If this was what post-war life was like, well, he kind of wished he'd stayed at train station with Dumbledore.

He pinched himself then, and yelped as he pinched too hard. The members of the meeting at which he was currently present turned to look at him and he smiled sheepishly back.

"Sorry...papercut" he said by way of explanation.

Kingsley raised an eyebrow and Harry shrugged back at him.

He tried to tune back into the conversation. They were talking about the Auror division, and Harry tried to listen because at least this was something he had a bit of interest in. Since he first considered a career in the wizarding world he and Ron had always assumed they would apply to be Aurors.

Personally, Harry felt as if they should be given a fast track into the program. How many Aurors could have had the field experience they had?

He tried to pay attention. A wizard he hadn't met before, Mr Blumenfield, was saying that he felt the Auror division, given the number of deaths during the war, needed to place an emphasis on recruitment. They needed to target the wizards currently graduating and beginning to look at careers.

Well, this was something Harry understood.

"Excuse me" he said, and, as expected, the roomful of heads turned in his direction.

"If you're looking to recruit, you should think about the DA, Dumbledore's Army" he said, suddenly shy in front of the table.

Mr Blumenfield stared blankly at Harry.

"The what?"

"The DA. Dumbledore's Army. We did more in the war than most adult wizards combined" he said, proud of the DA's performance in the war.

"_And_ we had almost no losses" he finished.

Mr Blumenfield was still staring blankly at Harry, and Harry turned to look at Kingsley for help.

"The DA, or Dumbledore's Army, was an organised student club run by Potter who taught them advanced defence tactics" Kingsley explained, "They were a key component in the defence of Hogwarts during the war, were responsible for the evacuation of most of the muggleborns and halfbloods during the reign of Snape, and I believe McGonagall has also mentioned they consistently achieved the top marks in all subjects"

Harry felt himself going red. He was extremely proud of the group of students that had formed the club. Through everything he thought they had proven themselves time and time again. Since the war ended Ginny and Neville had disclosed some of the activities that the DA had been up to whilst he had been hunting horcruxes, and from the sounds of things the pair had run the group extremely effectively. He had been very impressed when Neville had told him about the sabotage and rescues that they had performed whilst the Farrows and Snape prowled the corridors of Hogwarts. More than a couple of students owed their survival to the existence of the group.

Harry remembered that first ever meeting at the Hogs Head when Hermione and Ron had convinced him to lead the group after Umbridge had single handedly destroyed the Defence Against the Dark Arts classes. To think that he hadn't wanted to have anything to do with the group to start with...he was incredibly grateful he had such strong-minded friends.

The others at the meeting were staring at Kingsley with mixed impressions. Some were nodding, and Harry suspected they had most likely already known about the DA, perhaps they had children who had been involved in the organisation, or perhaps they had heard about the group through the stories that were only now coming out in the Prophet as the heroic acts from the war became known.

Some, on the other hand, were looking quite unimpressed. They probably thought the group was just a bunch of kids playing grown-ups. Harry narrowed his eyes at the ones he thought didn't believe Kingsley about the groups' heroics.

Finally one of the members, a balding older man who had a huge bulbous nose and a gap between his two front teeth, spluttered and gave a couple of coughs into his closed hand.

"Excuse me Kingsley," he said, and Harry was uncomfortably reminded of the last ministry representative who had started her sentences with little 'hem hem's and had since become infamous in her own right.

"I recognise that through the war there were many...heroic...deeds performed. Some by children such as those at Hogwarts. But is that _really_ the kind of person we want involved in the ministry Auror program? Students who couldn't obey the rules at school and organised their own guerrilla terrorist group?" he said.

Kingsley raised an eyebrow in response.

Harry sat trying to unravel the speakers words...was he saying that Harry and his friends were _terrorists?_

"I understand your viewpoint, Mr Wingfield, but I think you're underestimating the maturity of those students involved. From what I understand they were well organised, had extremely capable leadership, covered a wide range of tactical and practical teachings, and as I said were an invaluable resource during the war. To write them off simply because of their age is, I feel, somewhat short-sighted" said Kingsley.

Harry watched as Mr Wingfield sat back, still obviously unhappy.

"What exactly is the point though, Kingsley" asked a man who Harry also didn't recognise.

Kingsley nodded in recognition of the question.

"I think that, given the dire numbers of our defence force, that it might be worth looking at abbreviated training modules for those considered to have exceptional circumstances as a result of the war, those considered to have life experience equivalent to that of part of the Auror training program".

Harry tried to figure out what that meant. Did that mean that they would get fast tracked into the Auror program? Ron would be thrilled!

"What!?" exclaimed Mr Wingfield, standing up in his chair. Harry was surprised by how his eyes bulged as he stood, and wondered if his brain was on the verge of exploding.

He kind of hoped that was the case.

"Kingsley! These are _children_!" said Mr Wingfield.

"He's right Kingsley, you can't equate the acts of children with the warfare enacted by mature trained adults" said another blonde haired woman towards the end of the table.

Harry was beginning to get annoyed. As far as he could see he and his friends had done far more in the war than any of the people sitting around the table, except for Kingsley of course.

"We can't fill the places left by men and women fighting with the children they were fighting to _protect_" said another voice.

Suddenly everyone was clamouring to put in their opinion. Voices began to raise in volume, some people began to raise themselves onto their arms on the table.

Harry watched back. He was getting really _really_ tired of all these political games.

"SHUT UP!" he yelled, finally fed up with them all.

"SHUT UP!" he yelled again, and miraculously the room fell silent.

He stared at all their faces, most staring at him wide eyed as if they thought he might hex them then and there, Kingsley had his eyes closed, and for a second reminded Harry of Dumbledore when he was trying to measure his words before speaking.

"We're NOT kids! Don't you _get_ that?" He said, angry that all the deeds his friends had done during the war were being so easily tossed aside.

"We _watched_ our friends murdered, some of these _kids_ you're dismissing have been _tortured_, and _worse_! Some of these _kids_ have watched their family and friends picked off one by one by death eaters. Some have fought those death eaters and _killed_ grown men and women like _you_! They _fought_ with the aurors, they did _more_ than those aurors for a good part of the war, and _without_ these _kids_ there wouldn't _be_ any children to protect anymore" he yelled.

He ran out of breath then, and took a few seconds to focus on breathing as he stared wildly around the table. He was furious at them all.

"Harry" began Kingsley gently, "We're not trying to demean the actions that you and your friends have taken. But we are just saying that students fresh out of Hogwarts might not be able to fast track into the auror program so easily. Perhaps they need the entire program to gain the experience necessary for their future survival on the job".

Harry turned to the rest of the table.

"How many of you are aurors?" he asked them, unsure what audience he was actually directing.

More than half of the dozen odd people at the table tentatively raised their arms.

"And how many of you think that when you graduated from Hogwarts you could have done half the stuff we 'kids' have done?" said Harry furiously.

The faces around the room started taking on a somewhat ashamed look, but Harry wasn't finished.

"Many of you have or know people who have had children at Hogwarts during the past few years. Don't you see that the odds are they wouldn't be _alive_ if it wasn't for the DA? Don't you see that the DA have done more than their share of 'adult' work? They have been involved in more fighting against Death Eaters and against Voldemort..."

Harry glared at the table members as they unanimously flinched at the name...

"Voldemort" he said again, enunciating each syllable. "They fought with adults and proved they were equals" he said, hoping they were taking in what he was saying.

He sighed then, and sunk back down into his chair.

"Look, I know what your trying to say. I get it. We're kids. We shouldn't be thrown straight from war into the post-war cleanup. We're young, and immature, and too inexperienced to really be able to do anything useful..."

Harry looked around at them all slowly, internally smirking when one by one they all averted their eyes from his.

"But the truth is...those of us who grew up with the war around us, who spent our teenage years fighting for survival rather than just fighting for the House Cup...we never got a childhood like what you're thinking. We skipped that part, and even though that sucks, that's just the way it is.

But you can't just send us back and ask us to forget all we learnt. We had to grow up quickly, too quickly maybe but nobody can help that. So let these 'kids' show what they can do if they want. I dunno, maybe give them a trial examination or something that will show they're equal with junior Auror trainees...but don't just write them off because they're still in school. They haven't been 'kids' for a while now" Harry fininished, unsure whether his argument made sense but with nothing to add to it.

He sat back and, suddenly embarrassed over his outburst, he looked down at his feet and tried to study the shoelaces of his worn trainers.

Everybody was silent and Harry was left feeling extremely self conscious.

Finally, Kingsley cleared his throat.

"Well, I'm afraid we're going to have to call an end to this meeting" he said in his dark baritone voice.

The others in the room all stood, shuffling papers and glancing at each other with quick sideways looks.

Harry made his way to the door, scuffing his shoes along the bottom of the door as he waited for Kingsley to wrap up the meeting.

Finally they made their exit, neither speaking a word while Kingsley led Harry to his private office and stood by the floo.

"Harry, I think there's still enough time for you to get to Hogwarts and survey the progress that has been made there" he said.

Harry looked down, he felt really bad about his behaviour earlier and worried that he had ruined the meeting

"I'm really sorry Kingsley.." he started.

Kingsley stopped him with a booming laugh.

"Harry! It's okay, don't worry about it!" he said, chuckling. "They needed the sense knocked into them. Things aren't going to be able to go back to the way they were for a long time yet, and it was high time someone hammered that into their skulls."

Kingsley took a moment to study Harry who was still studying his shoes.

"Harry, you were right. You and your friends did more in the war than any of those senior Aurors combined. The ministry organisation of the Aurors during the war was severely lacking and inhibited by ministry incompetence. And then they were forced to submit to Voldemort's leadership...it's a sore spot with them. The sooner they realise that they need to be more flexible in their post war rehabilitation of ministry processes...well, the sooner we can all feel like life is returning to normal."

Kingsley put a hand on Harry's shoulder.

"I hope you realise you're being extremely helpful by coming along to these meetings" he said, and Harry raised his head to look at Kingsley in confusion.

"But I don't even _do_ anything, really. All I do is sit there, and every now and then lose my temper!" he said, annoyed at the thought that Kingsley might be patronising him.

Kingsley shook his head. "Exactly Harry. You are a symbol that the war has ended. By being there you remind them of that, and you also have the rare privilege to be able to say truths that would otherwise be unsaid."

"But its just commonsense" Harry protested.

"Yes it is. But when it comes to politics there is no such thing as commonsense" said Kingsley wryly.

"I can't say this is a role I wanted for myself, and I don't think it's a role that you wanted either. But fate has decided to place us in these positions, so all we can do is do our best to guide the wizarding world towards some positive changes" he said.

Harry nodded. It certainly wasn't how he wanted to spend his day, being some kind of revered symbol who people only listened to because they thought he had some kind of...superpower...just because he had died and come back to life. They didn't seem to _get_ that it was all a fluke.

And, he supposed, Kingsley had never really seemed the type who would _want_ to sit through endless meetings. He had always thought Kingsley preferred the wand-in-hand action rather than the behind-door politics.

He shrugged, grabbing a handful of floo powder before arranging himself within the fireplace to floo to Hogwarts.


	3. Chapter 3

_Okay, I want to preface this chapter with a sincere apology from the bottom of my heart._

_I am the WORST! I know! It's been absolutely forever since I last posted a chapter for this story, and I have no real excuse. I got side tracked with study and work...(on the plus side I am now a fully qualified doctor!). Essentially, life got in the way. _

_I don't expect you to forgive me! I know how annoying it is when an author just lets their story dwindle, and that is exactly what I did._

_I am now working full time, so I don't promise rapid updates, but I do promise that this story has now once again become the forefront of my mind and I will devote as much time as possible towards it. I do, however, require you to leave reviews because if I don't think people are enjoying it then I am unlikely to put time and effort into writing it._

_And in case you were wondering, I am not J. ...if I was I wouldn't have had to devote the last few years of my life to studying for a career. I could just sit back and play around with the wonderful world I created. Ah, well...work beckons._

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 3<strong>

Ginny was fuming. She knew she needed a release for her growing temper but she was currently in the middle of a very tricky levitation spell as she put stones back into place on the east wall of Hogwarts.

She knew her temper was probably out of proportion to the problem at hand, but Ginny tended to find that when her inner witch got fired up it took more than just logic and reasoning to calm her down. Usually she just needed to blast a few objects or toss some gnomes and she would feel much better.

But she was also conscious of the fact that she was at Hogwarts with a lot of people she knew nearby. She didn't want anyone to realize how upset she was about the next years' school arrangements. McGonagall had been speaking with Bill Weasley about the coming school year. Bill had mentioned that he didn't think Ron would be keen to return to Hogwarts of Harry didn't, and that he didn't think Harry was ready to return to school.

Ginny, naturally, had perked her ears up at the mention of Harry and had drifted towards the pair to eavesdrop. It was a habit she had picked up from the twins, and in her opinion it was a skill she far surpassed her mischievous brothers...brother, Ginny mentally slapped herself for that error in speech...as she had the advantage of being much tinier than any of her siblings and was therefore much more capable of remaining in unseen corners. Although, she thought ruefully, none of them had been blessed with indistinguishable features or an ability to blend into the background.

Neither McGonagall nor Bill noticed her approach and McGonagall continued unaware of the younger witches presence.

"The Board, or at least what remains of the Board, have decided that for students such as your brother who were due to commence their final year this year, but for extenuating circumstances were unable to complete, or in Mr Weasley's case commence, their NEWTS we will take into account their involvement in the war and their past performance in their schoolwork and grade them accordingly. The Board of Examiners have agreed that they will provide NEWTs where students are able to demonstrate their proficiency in the subject through an interview and practical demonstration with the examiners. This will negate the issue that the students have not been given a set curriculum and therefore are not able to have a standardized examination as is usually the case."

Bill nodded thoughtfully and Ginny bit her lip in concentration to hear everything whilst remaining unseen.

"What about Ginny?" Her brother asked.

McGonagall gave a one sided shrug and held her hands as if in apology.

"The board has granted these exceptions to those of Ron's year only, knowing that the graduating class will be sorely needed in the coming times, but the board has decided that all other year levels will need to continue on with their schooling. A summer bridging program will be established and extra tuition will be available during the year for students who feel as if they need it. Also if any graduating student would rather stay on at Hogwarts to complete their schooling they will of course be welcomed back gladly."

Bill scoffed. "I highly doubt my brother will turn down the chance to get out of school early."

McGonagall nodded.

Ginny felt tears prick at her eyes as she realized the implications of this. Once again she would be left behind at Hogwarts to wait and watch as many of her friends and family were allowed to stay and help where help was needed.

She didn't think it was right. She had surely proved herself in the war! Surely she deserved to be classed as an 'exceptional circumstance' herself!

That was when she had quietly slipped away from the pair before they could notice her and headed back to the wall she was helping to reconstruct. It didn't take long to realize she wasn't making much progress with her bitterness and jealousy bubbling beneath her surface. She sighed, putting a final stone into place before heading over to the ministry worker who was in charge of administration. She signed herself off and headed back towards Hogsmeade where the floo was open in the three broomsticks for any of the volunteers.

* * *

><p>She decided to go home, and when she toppled out of the fireplace and managed to take a look around she quickly realized she was alone. Her mother was most likely off fetching supplies to continue her endless and frantic cooking.<p>

Perfect, Ginny couldn't have hoped for better. She knew she was in no mood to talk civilly to anyone.

All her anger at the past few weeks, if not the past year, was beginning to surface. She was angry at McGonagall for letting the board make all the decisions about the school. She was angry she wouldn't be allowed to graduate with Ron and Hermione and Harry and Neville, and all the others who felt more like her year-mates sometimes than her actual year-mates. She was angry the war had happened in the first place and that her life had been so severely messed up by a selfish young boy named Tom. She was really angry at the trio for leaving her at the wedding all those months ago and never getting in contact with her, making her wait for news with baited breath every morning when the owls brought the daily news, or the evenings when she would huddle with fellow students around a battered radio to listen to Potterwatch. She was angry at Harry for being Harry and taking everyone's troubles as his own.

And she was REALLY angry that he had made NO mention of their relationship which HE had ended because of the war but had completely ignored since his return now that the war had ended.

Ginny thought, overall, she had been very understanding given the circumstances. She hadn't pressed him for details or answers to her unvoiced questions. She hadn't intruded into the little world that he and Ron and Hermione had cocooned themselves in since returning to the Burrow. She left them alone, knowing they probably had their own set of issues to work through as did everybody else.

But, she vowed, the next time she came across young Mr Potter she was going to take him aside...drag him if necessary...and work out what his DEAL was with her because she was now well and truly fed up.

She stormed down the back garden, making her way towards the line of trees at the far boundary. She followed the little trail off to the side where she knew most people didn't look. It was a trail that winded through the woodlands that surrounded Ottery St Catchpole and led to her favourite spot that she used when she needed to get away from the bustle and hubbub of the Burrow (inevitable when a family consists if six teenage boys).

As she made her way to the little pond she liked which had a large boulder beside it and provided the ideal seat, shaded from the cool breeze. Along the way she left no stone unkicked and no tree trunk un-hit with the large stick she was wielding like a cricket bat.

The release of her anger each time helped, and little by little she felt her temper begin to fade.

That soon changed, however, when she turned the final corner and saw who was perched on HER spot on HER favourite boulder.

Harry-frigging-Potter.

Harry was sitting, staring into the water and oblivious to all around him. His broomstick was leaning up against the boulder and Ginny could tell from his hair that was more mussed than usual he had been flying. He was sitting on top of the rock with his knees drawn up. Ginny almost felt a warm wave of empathy towards him...until she suddenly remembered that HE was one of the major reasons she was angry in the first place.

She ran up to the rock and kicked it hard, the sudden movement startling Harry and within a blink of an eye he had leapt of the boulder and was standing, wand out, in defence. Ginny was surprised at his speed, pulling her own wand and mirroring his stance.

"Don't even think about it, Potter!" She spat

Harry blinked in confusion before sheathing his wand and relaxing his posture.

"Ginny! You startled me! What are you doing out here? I thought everybody was out." Harry stared at Ginny, his eyes narrowing in confusion as he watched her wand which she had yet to put away.

"That's what I thought too. And the question is, rather, why are You sitting on My boulder?" she said, emphasising each word by prodding the air between them with her wand. At each prod sparks flew from its end and Harry stared wide-eyed as he watched sparks begin to light up amongst the hairs on Ginny's head.

"Your boulder?" Harry tried to tease casually and lifting his hands in mock surrender, sensing that if he were to make a wrong footing he might not come out of this confrontation with all fingers and toes intact. "I don't see your name on it anywhere," he tried again to turn the tone of conversation towards a more casual nature.

Ginny knew the joke was meant in jest, but she wasn't in the mood tone forgiving. Instead she walked over to Harry and before he had the chance to react she gave him a big shove, pushing with all the force she could give from her tiny body.

"Hey!" Harry rubbed his chest where she had shoved him.

"What was that for? What have I done?" He asked, quickly moving around the boulder so that he could establish some solid ground between himself and the irate redhead.

"What HAVEN'T you done you mean?" She said, though she could tell from his flinch that her voice was raised.

"I have LET you be! I don't pretend to understand ANYTHING of what you and Ron and Hermione went through last year! But those of us left behind wondering didn't have it any easier I'll bet! You didn't have to wipe the tears away from children whose parents has been tortured or murdered. You weren't the ones massaging muscles in CHILDREN who got on the wrong side of the Carrows! You have NO idea why I've been through either!

And I get it, okay? I GET that you need space and time and whatever else to get yourself together but you can damn well acknowledge that I exist! That we had a relationship! That we kissed goodbye that last time and did all that went with it knowing it could well be our last! That I L..."

Ginny cut herself short, very aware of what she had almost let slip. Neither of them had ever said Those words to each other and she wasn't about to let That particular bombshell drop right now.

In a quieter voice she continued. "We had something together Harry. You can't deny it. You can't deny that what we shared meant something. And when you left, I dunno, maybe I was mistaken but I thought you were going to come back to _me_. And now, since you returned you've been avoiding me, not even looking at me!"

Ginny sighed. Putting her wand back in her pocked and shoving at the rock with her sneaker, unable to look any longer at Harry who was staring at her wide-eyed and feeling stupid because she could feel tears pooling in her eyes. After getting a hold of her breathing she glanced up again at the wizard she had devoted her entire heart to.

"Just tell me Harry. Just tell me where we stand with each other, because I'm happy to wait for you for however long it takes, but if I've been reading this the wrong way you need to tell me now. If you don't want to get back together with me, if you don't share the same dream I have for us together, please tell me now because stringing me along is not just cruel, it's cowardly, and more than anything harry you are not a coward."

Ginny stopped there, giving Harry (who was desperately looking at anything but the red head in front of him) a piercing stare.

She could feel stinging behind her eyes. She knew her face was probably completely red and unattractive and she hated feeling like such a lovesick girl. She had never doubted, never questioned that Harry would come back to her. Oh she had wondered if he would live, but whether or not their love was true she had never given a second thought. And now, here she was for the first time realizing that maybe, yet again, she had fallen into that same one-sided relationship she had vowed she would avoid when Harry first starting spending the summers with their family.

Harry looked up at Ginny, his answer in his eyes. Ginny felt physically sick, quite literally felt her stomach rebel and churn and she gagged despite herself, ending up drawing in a gasping breath trying to get a hold of herself as she willed herself to listen to Harry as he began to speak.

"Gin…" he started before his words faded and he was left dry-mouthed.

He licked his lips, took a deep breath and began again. "I'm so sorry Gin" he said.

Ginny let out an almighty sob and her fingers began to clench around her wand.

Harry took a step forward, hands in a cautionary gesture as he moved slowly towards her.

"I am. I know I've been distant and stuff, but I'm really bad at this and..."

Harry pushed the hair away from his eyes, unsure. He knew he wasn't exactly an eloquent speaker, and when it came to talking about feelings and relationships he didn't exactly have a stellar history.

"...it's not you it's me?" He said, voice rising into a question. He heard that line said in all the breakups in the movies that Dudley watched and thought it was pretty suited to the occasion.

To his surprise Ginny let out a dry bark of laughter, and Harry felt goosebumps rise on the back of his neck, his hand gripping his wand ever so slightly tighter.

He tried again.

"...it's just...I've changed, you know?...and I don't think I'd be any good for you...and with all we've been through you really do deserve someone who knows how to do this relationship thing...and..."

"Harry."

Ginny cut him off and Harry drifted into silence waiting for her to speak again. She took a while, trying to find any words at all was a struggle but she persisted.

"Harry," she started again. "Harry, you don't need to explain. But I want to know if you're lying to me. Because I'll say it right now Harry Potter. I love you. I do. I always have. I always will. And I don't want anything more or anything less than You. Just Harry.

So if you mean it that you don't want to be with me anymore, that you don't want me to wait for you, then look into my eyes like a man and tell me to my face. Tell my you don't love me and you don't want to be with me."

Harry simply stared at her, speechless. His mind went into overload at her revelations. She loved him?

Harry was no stranger to the concept of love. After all, he thought sarcastically, hadn't love 'conquered' Voldemort in the end. He automatically blocked that train of thought before he went down that path and stared at the girl in front of him as his insides raged in turmoil.

If Harry was honest with himself he knew he might even L-word Ginny himself. But he also knew that at the moment with everything he had done and been through, with everything that had happened, with the media nipping at his heels in any direction he turned, he knew he was pretty badly messed up.

He didn't doubt Ginny's declaration, nor her vow to wait for him to put himself back together however long it took.

But the truth was Harry didn't think he would ever be able to put himself together. He considered himself broken, a broken boy/man, and didn't think there was a cute or fix for what he was. He was damaged goods.

And Ginny deserved so much better than that. She deserved someone who woke up every day ecstatic that the world had her in it...not someone who often woke up wishing he hadn't woken up at all. She deserved someone who would shower her with romance and love and happiness in private. Not someone who, on his darkest days found it hard to remember what love was and still woke every night screaming at the horrors of his dreams based on real memories more often than not. Not someone who would never, as Harry had come to learn, be allowed to live a private life. His every move and word was followed by the media. Whether the public loved him or hated him (and he had experienced both) he was destined to be in the public eye for a lifetime. His only notion of romance was what he had seen here at the Burrow, and the thought of children terrified him in ways he couldn't voice. The thought that he could create a life that might, like his, be destined for greater things was a terrifying one. Even more so was the thought of giving the Dumbledores of this world more pawns to manipulate in their own machinations. Harry would be happy to die alone in the end, he had already died once (twice?) and didn't want to drag anyone down the path that he envisioned led there. Certainly not Ginny Weasley.

So as she stared at him, eyes wide with tears that he could already see forming, Harry made the decision that he was sure was the right one. It would probably kill him to do it, but it wasn't like death and he were strangers!

So Harry took Ginny's shoulders in his hands and held her away from him. He looked into her deep brown eyes, drinking in the sight of her as he knew it would likely be his last for a while. He took a deep breathe and then said the words he knew he would never be able to take back.

"Gin…." he trailed off as he tried to find the words he needed to say.

"I….I don't love you."

He felt his throat close up, and he felt the world spinning around him as he watched her absorb his words, still held in place by his arms. He watched as her face changed from confusion to horror to disbelief. Then let his arms fall to his side as she wrenched herself away from him. He could see the little sparks of purple fire racing down the strands of her hair and he watched them in fascination and Ginny stood there, gasping for air as she looked at him. He watched a single tear start down her cheek, and resisted the urge to brush it away. He knew this was for the best.

Ginny stood frozen. Still running his words around her head again and again as she stood there in disbelief. She felt sick. Her throat burned. She could feel her legs and arms and body begin to turn into jelly and she brought one arm up to her face and realized she was shaking.

She looked back at Harry, standing so calmly and coldly after he had said his piece.

She had given her heart to him and he had shattered it completely.

She backed away a few steps, trying to regain some balance in her world which had just been thrown upside down and inside out.

She took some deep breaths before she turned on her heel and began to make her way back up the path she had come. She only took a few steps before she suddenly turned, wand at the ready and without thinking she blasted a fierce stinging hex at Harry, one that she had been making small adjustments to over the past couple of months for fun. It hit him squarely on the backside and Harry, who usually was able to duck any shot thrown at him, yelped and clutched his backside where the spell had hit him.

Serves him right, Ginny thought.

Then, about to turn on her heel once more she gave Harry one last look and tried to fill her glare with as much anger and hurt as she could. She smiled wryly when Harry physically recoiled from her look.

"FUCK YOU HARRY POTTER"

She screamed with every ounce of energy she had, before turning once more and running up the path, slamming the back door as she flew through the house, ignoring her mothers surprised cry, and fleeing to her bedroom where she double bolted the door and flung herself onto her bed, finally letting out the tears that had been building and dissolving into racking and heaving sobs.

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><p>That was the last time anyone saw Ginny for the rest of the summer. She stayed holed up in her room, picking at whatever food her mother brought her and spending hours lying on her back on her bed staring blankly at the ceiling. The only people she let into her room were her parents, and although at the start she had shed a flood of tears she refused to let anyone see them. After a while her tears flowed less freely and instead she felt as if a blanket had covered her emotions. She felt fatigued and worn thin, all her emotions seemed blunted and hazy. She wasn't at all sure what this change meant but she embraced it all the same.<p>

She spent endless hours doing her summer assignments and did more prereading for the coming school year than she had ever done in her life.

Because during the war many students' parents had lifted the trace on their wands Ginny was free to practice her wandwork and spent hours perfecting her charms and transfigurations, tweaking the spells here and there to her own liking. She was sure if her teachers knew she was meddling with the spells they had assigned they would be less than thrilled, but Ginny was a firm believer in the phrase 'See no evil, hear no evil' and so she didn't really put much energy into worrying.

She had collected dozens of spell books over the years, as they seemed to be a safe gift and when unknown relatives had to buy her presents it tended to be a book. She had never read half of them, but now in her self-imposed confinement she devoured them all. Some gave tips and advice on how to make minute changes to spells and Ginny found spell modifications came quite easily to her. She had always had a good arm for hexes and it seemed as if that held true for most charms. Transfiguration was much more difficult for her and she thought that it was likely because she had little patience for the transfiguration mentality. It required an intense focus on minute details and Ginny usually found herself by the bigger picture.

So Ginny would lie on her bed, surrounded by flickering fairy lights and stars of her own creation. She painted her walls the colours that she felt, and some days this would result in balls of fire and billows of black cloud swarming and suffocating the room with darkness. Some days when she felt less dark she would cover the walls with white swirling clouds and vast expanses of shades of blue and she would sit on her bed and feel as if she were flying. At other times when her mind wandered into the realm of those she had lost in the war she filled the walls with fireworks, sparkling and glittering they lit up the room and their light painted her face with all the hues of the rainbow.

Nobody in the house questioned Ginny's sudden retreat into her room. More than a few suspicious glances were aimed at Harry but he remained exceedingly tight lipped about anything that had transpired between him and his (now ex-) girlfriend. Ron and Hermione sat him down and asked him one day several weeks after he and Ginny had their confrontation by the pond, but Harry was resolute in his refusal to talk and so the pair dropped the subject, neither wanting to experience first hand Harry's biting tongue he unleashed when he was cornered into talking about his feelings. All they were told by Harry was that he and Ginny had come to a mutual understanding that they should not be together and that was that.

Harry, like Ginny, avoided the other people in the Burrow as much as possible. He took to going to 'work' early and coming back late. When he did return he would head into the backyard to fly endless circles and nosedives, flying at such steep angles and at such speed that Mrs Weasley had taken to pinning the direct floo address for the Broom Injuries department at St Mungos onto his broomstick to emphasise her disapproval. At times Harry would disappear into the woods in the back, not to be seen for hours at a time and always refusing the company of others, whilst at other times he would go to his bed in Ron's room and lay on his side, facing the wall. When he was like that nobody dared to touch him.

Harry's 'work' generally consisted of going to the ministry every morning and tagging along beside Kingsley who seemed to be using Harry as some sort of ministerial stamp. He would take Harry into a room and Harry would sit through a meeting. Towards the end of the meeting Kingsley would ask Harry if he agreed with what was being said. Harry was usually so far off in his daydreams that he would just nod his head, the matter would seem to be settled and they would rise, shake hands and head to the other meetings.

Harry liked Kingsley, he had always struck him as an honest sort of bloke. But Harry was beginning to suspect Kingsley was using Harry's fame and current status within the community as some sort of bargaining chip.

Harry didn't like the feeling he was being used.

But at the same time Harry recognized the ministry was in shambles. And he knew that things needed to be put back together before the wizarding world could truly begin to move on. And if his presence meant that this happened in a smoother fashion then how could Harry complain?

Still, it grated him.

And the ones who wore his temper when his moods took a turn towards the black or when things at the ministry became too confusing and frustrating were Ron and Hermione. Harry would snap at them, and when he wasn't snapping he was immersed in his own dark broody silences.

Ron and Hermione were worried about him, but unsure how they could help. Ron would challenge Harry to a game of chess or a fly around the yard, or Hermione would ask Harry about his day and perkily tell him about hers.

Nothing seemed to raise a smile from their friend.

Besides Harry the pair were devoting most of their time exploring the new development in their relationship, and if they were truly honest they didn't want to ruin their newfound bliss by becoming Harry's punching bag.

In fact, the only person who really had any chance of snapping Harry out of his funk was currently holed up in her room and mending her own broken heart.

And so life at the Burrow continued on uneasily. Mrs Weasley continuing to acknowledge the loss of one of her sons and shouting at anyone who tried to breach the subject with her. Mr Weasley spent his days in the toolshed or at the ministry, although his tinkering had reached a standstill and instead he could usually be found sitting at his workbench with his head in his hands. George remained bed bound in his room, refusing to emerge and barely eating, the plates placed in his room by his mother remained largely untouched. Percy now visited almost every night for dinner, sitting silently with the others at the table and leaving as silently as he came. Bill and Fleur had returned to Seashell Cottage, and Charlie was staying with a friend nearby.

The once bustling and bubbly atmosphere of the Burrow was now sombre, a great cloud now hanging over everyone as they pushed on with their lives.

Eventually the time came for school to start, and Hermione volunteered to fetch Ginny's schoolbooks (much to Ron's disgust and with many eye rolls from the boys). When Hermione made her way up the narrow staircase to deliver them to Ginny she was surprised when the young witch opened the door for her and let her in.

Hermione glanced around the room. It certainly wasn't the dump she had been expecting, the sort of untidy pigsty Harry tended to let his room become when he was having his 'moods'. Instead everything was ordered and tidy.

Curious, Hermione perched herself on the end of the bed and gestured to the already half-packed bag.

"I've never seen a Weasley so prepared for the coming term!" she said with a smile.

Ginny gave a half-hearted smile in return but Hermione could see her heart wasn't in it.

Hermione sighed and looked closely at the witch in front of her. Ginny had noticeable dark lines beneath her eyes, looked as if she had lost a significant amount of weight and she looked drawn and tired. Her hair, normally the trademark gleaming red hair of the Weasley Clan, hung limp and dull.

She looked like she was going through hell.

And Hermione wished there was something she could do. But she knew Harry, and if Harry was determined to end their relationship then Hermione had no doubt it would be impossible to change his mind.

She sighed, and Ginny, knowing she had just been assessed and found wanting, opened the door wordlessly and gestured for Hermione to leave.

Hermione left without saying anything, just giving the other witch a sympathetic smile that she hoped would appear encouraging and understanding. Then she made her way outside to find Ron lying next to the lavender watching the clouds. She knelt down beside him before settling herself into place on the grass with her head on his stomach and watching the clouds with him. His hand reached out and found hers and he began to rub small circles on the back of hers with his thumb. Hermione sighed, and with all her heart she hoped that Ginny and Harry would find their way back to each other, but with so much currently unsaid she wasn't at all sure how possible that would be.

* * *

><p>The day came for Ginny's departure to Hogwarts. In contrast to the usual crowd that attended a Weasley departure at Kings Cross Station Ginny found herself standing morosely on the platform with her luggage. Her mother and father had both come to stand with her, a look of such mournful longing was on their faces as they watched the other parents on the platform say goodbye to their children. Ginny turned away, her stomach churning with her own grief and unable to bear to add to it her parents sorrow.<p>

Hermione had manages to drag Ron along to say goodbye to his little sister, although to nobody's surprise Harry had declined the invitation to join them. Instead Hermione had an overly-bright smile plastered on her face and was trying to keep up a jovial tone despite the glares she was getting from Ginny.

Ron just stood in the middle of the platform looking awkward, miserable and out of place. Ginny sidled over to him and put her arm around his waist in a one armed hug. Ron squeezed her tight and gave the top of her head a peck.

"I'm sorry Gin. I know I'm not much fun hey?" He said with a wry grin.

Ginny understood. Ever since he had returned Ron had remained inside the house, refusing to go to Diagon Alley, to Hogsmeade or even to the little village of Ottery St Catchpole.

Nobody had made any mention of it, knowing as they all did that each and every one of them would have their own demons to face now the war was over. Ron had also developed the habit of refusing to be left on his own. If Ron was the last person left in the room he would seek out the company of someone, if Ron was in a room with someone it hadn't escaped anyone's notice that he kept one watchful eye on them and would find some excuse to follow them when they left. It was as if he was deathly afraid that if he lost sight of others they would all disappear and he would be left alone.

So Ginny knew it must be difficult for him to have come to the station and she was exceedingly grateful to her youngest older brother. She gave him a quick peck on the cheek in return and, dropping her bags, she stretched both arms around his tall and lanky frame to give him a proper hug.

As Ron bent down his head she leant towards his ear to whisper 'don't be angry at him Ron. I know I've been a miserable sulk these past few weeks but it's not his fault, okay?' She whispered.

Ron have her a squeeze in return. The past few weeks had been exhausting as he alternated between worrying about Harry and then worrying about his little sister. He strongly suspected Harry was in the wrong and he knew what an idiot Harry (and all boys he supposed) could be in relationships. But he also knew he could not possibly understand what Harry was going through. Hermione and he had not yet heard the entire story of what happened in the forest, but from the few things Harry had let slip they realized that whatever had happened when Harry marched out to meet Voldemort had been life-changing. And Ron knew first hand how much Harry's demons were haunting him. Ron had been sneaking off to Hermione's room most nights, but when he stayed the night in Harry's room he would inevitably be woken by the thrashing of his best mate in bed. Harry would be caught up in his sheets, tossing and turning and voicelessly screaming whether in horror or agony Ron could never tell. But in the mornings he never made mention to Harry of these episodes, nor of the times when Harry, delirious from sleep terrors, would huddle at the head of his bed against the wall, arms protectively wrapped around his chest and shoulders moving in silent wracking sobs. Ron suspected Harry subconsciously cast a wandless silencing spell on himself at night, because even in his night terrors when he half-woke to Ron stroking his head or holding him in his arms as he cried out his terror and anguish, he would murmur whispered words that Ron was unable to hear in his silence before resting his head against Ron's chest as he fell asleep.

Ron wasn't sure how to help his friend. He was glad his presence settled Harry, but there were nights when his own demons overcame him and instead of remaining by Harry's side as he knew a best-mate should he took the cowards way and retreats into the warm arms of his girlfriend who never turned him away and who would stroke his own hair until he slept, leaving Harry to fend off his own nightmares only rooms away.

For all these reasons and more he had decided to keep out of whatever was happening between Ginny and Harry. He knew that in the end there would be no winning side in their drama and that the best thing he could do would be to stand back and help pick up the shattered pieces of two of the people he loved most in the world.

So Ron simply have Ginny and extra tight hug before gently pushing her over to their parents for her final goodbye.

Mrs Weasley could barely contain her sobs as she brushed some stray hairs off Ginny's face. Mr Weasley didn't seem to be faring much better as he kept his lips in a tight line in what appeared to be an effort to retain control. It didn't seem to be working very well, however, as tears ran down his cheeks in rivers, wetting Ginny's head as she clung to his chest.

The train was making more and more noise in the background, and the platform was rapidly clearing of students. Ginny gave both her parents one last squeeze before gathering her things and making her way towards the train carriages where the final few students were boarding. She hauled her luggage onto the carriage and then, climbing up herself, she turned to wave goodbye to her family. Hermione was still grinning in an almost demonic way as she forced happiness onto her features, and Ron stood beside her with his hand raised in a last farewell. Ginny choked back a sob as she waved goodbye, turning back towards the train.

Nobody even noticed the dark silhouette of a young man with a hoodie obscuring his face, watching the students board from a shadowed corner of the platform.

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><p><em>I hope that makes up for some of the anger you have towards me for leaving this story for too long.<em>

_Again, I can't stress enough that I NEED reviews to know if you are enjoying (or not) my story and to give me the fire to continue onwards._

_xoxo_


	4. Chapter 4

_**Hello! I know it's been a couple of weeks since my last post, but that's about as fast as this chapter came out. I know there's quite a bit of angst still, but everyone has been through so much devastation recently it's hardly surprising they are finding it difficult to move on. Believe me that they will move on though! The world can't be all doom and gloom forever, otherwise it would be a pretty horrid way to live!**_

_**Thankyou to those who have reviewed, it means the world to me! If you haven't reviewed then please do so, it's the only way I know what you think of it.**_

_**Oh, and as always, I do not own the characters or the Harry Potter world. That miracle is all J. (bless her cotton socks!)**_

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><p><strong>.<strong>

**Hogwarts, 5****th**** September 1998**

The first couple of weeks went by before she had even realised. Ginny thankfully found herself with barely any time during the day to brood on the events of the summer (or on a certain green-eyed wizard.)

As soon as school had started she found herself swarmed by friends and survivors. Unsurprisingly there had been no returning students from Harry's year, and Ginny was somewhat relieved that she didn't have to face the stares and whispers from his circle of friends.

Instead she found herself surrounded by students who had idolised and reviled Harry at various times but had never_ really_ known him as a friend. And that meant that nobody felt brave enough to question her on her relationship (or ex-relationship) with him.

She spent the days reuniting with friends she had not seen since before the war. Many of the muggle-borns and half-bloods returned and Ginny was amazed at how quickly the school spirit seemed to have returned. It seemed like only yesterday they had all been fearing for their lives and listening to the daily death notices, yet she found herself easily slipping back into a world where the biggest concerns were how to smuggle food from the kitchens back into the dormitories (Ginny had long ago befriended the house elves in the kitchens who were always more than happy to help feed the 'misses and masters' of Hogwarts).

Of course, Hogwarts wasn't entirely rebuilt just yet. A castle that had been in existence since the Founders Era was hardly going to be rebuilt in a summer, but most of the castle was now standing proud and tall, and Ginny got a thrill at running her hands along the walls knowing that she had, in a small way, contributed to Hogwarts' return.

Sometimes it was as if the last three years had never happened, and Ginny craved those moments of forgetful bliss, when she could leave all her nightmares behind for an hour or two whilst she played wizarding chess with her housemates or snuck notes to her friends in class.

It wasn't always so easy, however. Ginny watched as students arrived, returning to the halls of Hogwarts, eyes shadowed with what they had seen and faces gaunt with the ghosts of their summer. She watched as Hogwarts embraced her students once more, surrounding them with an atmosphere of love and warmth and nurturing. She watched as students hungrily grabbed at their dinners, memories of a life on the run never far from their minds. She watched as these same students allowed the past to become the past, and as they started their lives anew.

There were changes amongst the students too. Different niches formed amongst them. The House loyalties were stronger than ever, and Ginny saw how the Slytherins moved about in groups, eyes twitching to the shadows as if they expected to be ambushed by the other houses. There were rumours of Slytherin students caught unexpectedly in corridors and hung up on the walls, of the Slytherin toilets inexplicably flushing out rather than in. Ginny had overheard more than a few whisperings between students in the other houses as pranks were planned and executed. Truthfully there was a small part of Ginny that suspected this was not exactly the way that they should be rebuilding society after the war they had just finished. The sorting hat's plea that the students should mix between their houses had once again gone unheard, and Ginny suspected that the current inter-house relations were against the grain of what people such as Dumbledore and Harry had stood for.

Even so, it wasn't so easy to look past the haunting images of death eater masks that she seemed to see each time she looked into the Slytherin tables. It wasn't easy to forget the cold curling lip of Snape last year as he watched Ginny and her friends be tortured by the Carrows and the other death eaters that he had allowed into the school. And it certainly wasn't easy to forget that not so long ago the majority of the parents from the Slytherin table had been trying to kill her.

So Ginny let the rumours and whisperings wash over her, preferring to stay ignorant to that aspect of the school psyche that caused her stomach to churn in discomfort.

.

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><p>.<p>

Ginny found Luna sitting in a tree by the lake. If she hadn't been looking for the blonde witch she would never have thought to look up.

One of the worst parts of the post-war present was that everybody had scars that needed healing, but most found themselves so absorbed with getting themselves through each day that they were oblivious to the hurts of those around them.

Ginny knew she probably should have sought out the other witch earlier, but she had spent the first couple of weeks remembering what life _could_ be like and hadn't felt able to deal with anyone else's issues until now.

Before she had returned Hermione had taken Ginny aside and mentioned that Luna, if she returned, had been through some pretty dramatic stuff. She didn't go into details but simply told Ginny that the other witch would probably need a friend. Ginny knew Luna didn't have many within the student body, and that she was probably the closest thing to a friend she had. And so Ginny felt somewhat guilty when she realised she hadn't actually had a proper conversation with Luna all year, and had set out early on that Saturday morning to find her.

Luna was many things, one of which was certainly not predictable.

Ginny spent the better half of the day trying to find her friend, searching through the library and many of the hidden rooms and corridors within the castle. Finally she had tried outside, the weather was overcast and chilly and she had been grasping at straws when she made her way towards the freezing bankside of the lake. She had been very surprised when she had noticed a pair of shoes beside a tree, and even more so when she squinted upwards between the branches to see, very high within the tree's boughs, a blonde head of hair.

Ginny quickly tied her hair back away from her face, put her wand into her back pocket and began the climb upwards. It wasn't easy, and she wasn't at all sure why Luna would choose this tree on this day for a climb. But, as she had reflected before, Luna was anything but predictable.

Eventually she found herself amongst the branches of the tree, within a small hideaway amongst the leaves that seemed to have been created with two small girls in mind.

Luna hadn't yet acknowledged her presence, and instead had a small muggle pocket knife she was using to carve intricate details into a thick tree limb, and Ginny let her eyes wander amongst the swirls and twists of Luna's design. She reached out, wanting to feel the design etched into the steady wood, and finally Luna raised her eyes to hers.

Ginny felt her stomach drop when Luna's gaze met hers. Her blonde haired, blue eyed, bizarrely-minded friend stared at her with eyes that seemed empty. Ginny felt suddenly sick with guilt that she had let so many weeks pass by without seeking out Luna and making sure she was okay.

"Luna…" she whispered, not sure what to say.

Luna's cheeks were dirt streaked, her eyes red and her face was sallow and haggard. She looked like she was half-dead. Her hair hung limply by her face, the normally gleaming curls were lank and lack-lustre. Ginny felt her heart go out to her friend, unsure of how she could possibly help someone who seemed to be suffering so much internally.

She reached out towards Luna, who flinched but let Ginny touch her shoulder. Ginny was shocked at how cold the other girl was, her skin like ice. She brought her hand down to enclose Luna's and again noticed how ice-cold they were.

"Oh Merlin, Luna, you're freezing!" said Ginny. She quickly undid her jumper zipper and wrapped it around the other girl.

"Come on, lets get you inside with a nice cup of hot cocoa" she said soothingly, and began to make her way back down the tree. Whatever was going on in Luna's head, she knew they wouldn't be able to deal with it whilst they were up in a tree.

She reached out to Luna who seemed to have understood what Ginny was asking and had turned around to make her own way down the tree. As they descended Ginny noticed that many of the other branches also contained extensive designs similar to the one she had found Luna making. She wondered how much time Luna was spending up trees, and why nobody had noticed that she was obviously struggling.

She jumped the last few feet, landing heavily, before turning to help Luna down from the last branch. Luna once again flinched from her touch, and Ginny's concern skyrocketed.

She quickly bundled Luna back into her boots before they started the trek back up to the castle. Luna was quiet and subdued, and the closer they got to the castle the more it dawned upon Ginny that she had absolutely no idea how to handle the situation she found herself in. The only thing she knew she could do was to warm up both Luna and herself, so she directed Luna through the back passages of Hogwarts towards the Room of Requirement, sending out a silent plea along the way to the castle that the room would be free for them.

When they arrived at the tapestry of Barnabus the Barmy Ginny stood Luna to one side of the corridor before pacing before the tapestry three times and silently asking the Room to grant her a place of comfort in which she could reassess the situation. She opened the door and was surprised to see one entire side of the room was taken up by a huge glass window overlooking a vast expanse of gardens with a bright and cheerful sun pouring light into the room. In one corner there was a large couch draped with multi-coloured sequined blankets and pillows, and all around the room sheaths of fabric of all the colours of the rainbow decorated the walls.

Ginny smiled wryly. It certainly wasn't her idea of comfort but she supposed it fitted that the Room had judged that Luna would feel safe and secure in the midst of a kaleidoscopic mash.

She reached outside the door only to grab Luna, who barely even looked up at her, and gently ease her inside the room and over onto one of the comfortable looking armchairs. Ginny then dashed to grab a pile of warm looking blankets and cocooned Luna within them.

"I need a house elf" she announced to nobody in particular, and was relieved when a small pinkish house elf appeared at her side, bowing lower than Ginny had realised was possible.

"How might the lowly Dibble serve the young Miss?" asked the house elf, directing its questions to the floor in front of its nose.

Ginny gestured for the house elf to stand, not wanting to deal with the ridiculous house elf mannerisms at this time.

"Dibbles, could you get some hot cocoa for me and my friend, and maybe something to eat as well?" she asked the elf who glanced at Luna before disappearing silently with a quick nod.

Ginny glanced at her watch, surprised to see that it was now well after lunch. No wonder her stomach was growling!

Dibbles returned shortly, laden with a tray of sweets and sandwiches as well as a large steaming jug of what Ginny hoped was cocoa. She poured both herself and Luna a mug of the steaming brown liquid and handed it to her friend before sitting on another armchair opposite.

She watched as Luna sipped her cocoa, eyes downcast. Ginny wasn't at all sure what was happening but she was fairly certain the other witch was going through hell.

Time passed as the pair sipped from their mugs and as Ginny debated how to ask Luna what was wrong.

"Luna….is there anything you want to talk about?" she asked quietly, hating the tremor in her voice as she spoke.

She let time pass, and she watched as Luna stared pointedly into her mug, obviously debating whether or not she should talk about it…whatever 'it' was.

Finally Luna looked up, and Ginny breathed a sigh of relief when she saw that her eyes were less blank than they had been in the tree. Perhaps this wasn't as bad as all that, after all.

"Oh! Ginny! Sorry, I hadn't noticed you before" said Luna tonelessly, looking around her before seeming to realise she was nestled amongst a pile of blankets within a room of colour.

"Where are we? I don't think I've been here before" she said, her voice a shadow of the dreamy voice Ginny was so used to hearing from her friend.

"Umm, Luna, I found you in a tree, remember? You were freezing cold so I brought you in here to warm you up." Ginny explained, unsure whether Luna really didn't remember her journey to the Room or not.

Luna nodded silently, giving Ginny no further clues as to her mindset.

"…you were carving designs in a tree" prodded Ginny, unsure of what to do if Luna really had somehow blanked large periods of time from her mind. Given her experiences in her first year, having large chunks of mind-blanks unnerved her somewhat, although she was fairly certain Luna had just been out of it, rather than possessed by an evil sociopathic schoolboy.

Luna glanced down at her lap and began to trace unseen patterns on the blanket that lay there. After a moment her eyes rose to Ginny's once more.

"Yes" said Luna, "I remember. I like the trees, and they like wearing the patterns I give them" she said, her voice reverting to its normal dreamy tone.

Ginny smiled, glad to see her friend beginning to return.

Ginny looked at Luna, still concerned, "Luna….is everything okay?"

"Of course" said Luna, eyes wide with surprise at Ginny's question.

Ginny bit her lip, unsure how to push the question without making Luna retreat back into her previous silence.

In the end Ginny let the silence settle once more, adjusting her position on the armchair and pulling up her legs as she cradled her hot chocolate and studied her friend from beneath her lashes. Luna seemed settled, content to stare out the window at the Room's illusion of the outside world. She stared without blinking, hands holding tightly at the steaming mug. Ginny watched as Luna's wide blue eyes remained entranced on the world, lips parted as if in a silent whisper.

She knew that there was something troubling her friend, and that whatever it was that was causing her friend pain it was likely related to whatever evils Luna had faced in the Malfoy basement where Hermione had told Ginny she had been found.

But raising the topic of Malfoy Manor was also likely to bring up more painful memories, not only for Luna but for Ginny as well. She much preferred avoiding the topic of the past few years at all.

So Ginny sat, drifting in and out of her own musings, keeping Luna company as they watched the Room's sunset fall.

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><p>.<p>

As the days and weeks went by, Ginny made a point of checking in with Luna every day. Every morning at breakfast Ginny had taken to herding Luna away from the Ravenclaw table and sitting next to her at the Gryffindor table.

Luna's arms were skeletal, and Ginny encouraged every mouthful into her. Luna would stare at Ginny sometimes, eyes filled with haunted memories, and the sight would make Ginny shiver.

Nevertheless, Ginny began to develop an obsession with 'fixing' Luna.

Ginny knew that things could perhaps never go back to the way they had once been. The student body had seen too much and been through too much trauma to ever be the care-free children they had once been. But Ginny was determined to recapture some of the magic of her past, and she vowed to herself that in doing so she would help Luna through this difficult period.

If anybody thought having a Ravenclaw sitting at the Gryffindor table at mealtimes was odd, they didn't mention it. After all, only an idiot would dare cross Ginny Weasley on a mission.

Surprisingly, nobody even commented when Ginny started bringing Luna back to the common room after classes, nor when Luna started to sleep in one of the many spare beds in the Gryffindor quarters.

Ginny knew Luna had been severely bullied in past years by her Ravenclaw housemates, and in her opinion the best place for recovery was with friends. So she dubbed Luna an honorary Gryffindor and the look she gave the other students in the common room the night she wrapped Luna in a Gryffindor scarf was a clear warning to them all – Luna Lovegood was _NOT_ to be messed with.

And to her immense relief, Ginny noted, as the mid-semester break drew near Luna began to look a bit healthier, her cheeks filled in and her eyes shone brighter. She actually responded voluntarily to conversations now, and would eat her meals without having Ginny constantly coaxing the food into her mouth.

Ginny could have danced a jig the day that Luna, voluntarily, told Ginny quietly over dinner that she didn't like chicken soup because it was what the Malfoys had fed her. It was the first bit of information Luna had ever given up about her time in the dungeons and although Ginny knew it was a far cry from facing the true demons, she was incredibly proud of her friend for struggling on despite it all. Ginny had formed some theories about what Luna had been through, and all of them made bile rise in her throat at the thought.

And as the Christmas break drew closer Ginny realised that she had spent almost half a year without sulking about a certain green-eyed wizard. In fact other than in her dreams, Harry barely came up in her daytime thoughts at all.

And _that_ was an achievement to be proud of, thought Ginny smugly.

.

* * *

><p><strong>.<strong>

**Hogwarts, 20****th**** November 1998**

So it was a rather sudden surprise when the Owl Post brought an interesting headline article in the Daily Prophet.

_**The Chosen One's Chosen Ones**_

_**(Exerpt from Witches Weekly)**_

_Watch out ladies! The Man-Who-Conquered is on the prowl._

_These photos were taken outside the Hogsmeade Tavern, and clearly show that _

_Potter, who in the past has been exceedingly close-lipped about his private life, has more than enough to go around. Potter, who is currently in the fast-track stream of Auror training, was seen celebrating with friends. Observers say that Potter proceeded to be the life of the party, shouting several rounds of drinks for those inside._

"_He certainly seemed to be getting on with some of the younger missus" says bartender Paul McRadden, and others in attendance confirm that Potter was indeed on the dancefloor with a number of the fairer sex. _

_Potter has in the past been romantically linked to Ginevra Weasley (of the Weasley's of Ottery St. Catchpole) and to Hermione Granger who fought beside him in the recent Second War. _

_Obviously Potter has now become available, and this reporter waits to see what scandals this young bachelor can reap on our witching world._

_Tamara Buttnock, Witches Weekly_

As Ginny read the article she could feel the entire student body in the Great Hall watching her, and she was mortified when she felt the beginnings of tears prick behind her eyes and a blush begin to spread up her neck. She would _NOT_ cry, she told herself stubbornly.

She would NOT let the others see her upset over that arrogant pratt.

She speared an egg with her fork onto her plate, then began to violently butter her toast, aware that the Hall was silent in wait for her reaction.

After her toast was sufficiently massacred Ginny began to furiously cut it into bite-sized pieces, well aware that the current state of her stomach would not allow any of it to end up there anyway.

The Hall was still silent, and Ginny stubbornly ate her toast, turning to glare at the other tables who were all looking at her. Some students looked back down at their plates, obviously ashamed for being caught looking, but most just stared back at her, waiting for the drama.

She glared at those around her, who all were steadfastly ignoring the paper and eating their breakfast as if she wasn't currently murdering her eggs on toast.

"Oh! Look! A Seephentra has taken the muggle Prime Minister's wife! How tragic!" said Luna suddenly, her voice carrying across the room in the extended silence.

Ginny almost choked on her breakfast with the shock that Luna was speaking nonsense again.

"A what?" she managed to get out, after she had finished coughing up the bit of egg that had been stuck in her throat.

"A Seephentra. Look, it says here the muggle Prime Minister has recently arrived back from North America and that his wife has a new haircut. But look! You can see it's the shape of a Seephentra nest" said Luna in her clear bell-like voice.

Ginny looked at Luna blankly.

"What's a Seephentra?" somebody down the table asked as they tried to get a better look at the picture.

Luna looked taken aback at the question, as if she couldn't imagine how anyone hadn't heard of the species. "Seephentra's are a native species of duck in Northern America, but they're much smaller than the average duck and they make nests in human hair where they bury their eggs. When their young hatch they feed off the carrier's innovation, so you can tell if someone has been infested because they lack any kind of original thought."

Ginny snorted, trying to cover herself by taking her glass of juice.

As Luna began to explain the intricacies behind the mating habits of Seephentra, Ginny could feel the interest of the room dissipate. She chanced a glance behind her and could see the students going back to their breakfast and their table-gossip. She breathed a sigh of relief at the sight.

She looked back at Luna who was still talking a mile a minute about her bizarre creature, pausing only long enough to glance at Ginny and give her a big one-eyed wink.

Ginny couldn't help herself as she dissolved into giggles.

.

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><p>.<p>

After the incident in the Great Hall, Ginny noticed that Luna had taken a turn for the better. She began interact in the table conversations at meals. She began to initiate conversations with Ginny. And she even began to talk about Wrackspurts and Nargles and all her other imaginary creatures. Ginny watched and listened, encouraging the stories and creatures.

Ginny began to think they might come out of this alright after all.

The stories in the media about Harry became a daily event. Harry caught outside nightclubs with curvy girls in his arms became a commonplace image, and after a while they even shifted to the midsection of the prophet rather than the front page.

It took Ginny several weeks before she could look at the pictures without gagging. Watching Harry snog these….'wanton women' as her mother would say….it was pretty vile. She couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at the attire of the girls he was now spending his nights with. Day after day the reports flew in of Harry getting into barside brawls, being caught with women in the backseats of cars, making drunken appearances at social events. Ginny read each story, searching for the man she knew between the lines, but the more she read the more she wondered if she had ever known him.

What if she really had just been a 'phase'. What if she had been nothing more than the start of a hundred girls, no different to him than the next.

It didn't help to think these things, but Ginny couldn't help but wonder if the relationship she had treasured had simply been in her own imagination.

Harry's antics became old news, and the gossip reels continued onwards to the next big story. Ginny watched, amazed that despite it all, one day he might be caught on camera with his tongue down three (different) girls, and then the next the front page story would be about a latent death eater he had single handedly managed to haul in.

Ginny had no idea what was happening to him, and she knew the last thing she should do was worry about him. But she couldn't help but feel sad that it seemed the Harry she had known and had loved was disappearing in front of their eyes.

One thing was certain. Christmas break, only a week away, was sure to be interesting.

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><p><strong>.<strong>

**Grimmauld Place, November 1998**

Harry could hear footsteps in the corridor outside his room. They were much too loud.

In fact, this morning, everything was too loud. The sun was too bright. And life was just too damn _cheery_!

He groaned and rolled over, fumbling to find his wand under his pillow to close the blinds.

"Oi, mate! Rise and shine!" Ron's too-loud voice echoed through Harry's brain like a steam-engine. Harry felt the heavy weight of his best mate sink down on the bed beside him, and the bustle of something being put on his bedside table – something he hoped would make him feel slightly better this morning.

"Hangover cure. Thought you'd need it after the way you looked when you came in last night. Big night eh?" said Ron, but his words didn't mask the tone of worry underneath.

"Grmphh" replied Harry, still not daring to open his eyes.

"Come on, you can't stay in bed all day today. I won't let you" said Ron, whisking the covers off Harry and reflexively disarming his friend as Harry brought his wand up to aim.

"Nope. You've done that to me before, won't make the same mistake again" said Ron.

"Up Harry. Kingsley mentioned last night he wanted a word with you today, so you've got to get a move on. Dad said he'd floo you to the Ministry if you wanted?"

Harry groaned again. He hated going to the Ministry.

Harry threw the nearest thing he could find at Ron's head, which just happened to be a dirty sock, "I hate redheads" he muttered.

"Gross Harry. I'll take that as a no then, shall I? Stop messing about, I'm heading over to Hermione's in a little while and I want to know you'll at least get out of bed today"

Harry sighed and sat up, cradling his head as he adjusted to the new vantage-point of the room. Were the walls supposed to spin like that?

"Where did you go last night, anyway?" asked Ron as he casually wandered around Harry's bedroom picking up dirty laundry and throwing it all in one big heap in the centre of the room.

"I dunno. Dean was meeting up with friends after training and I sort of tagged along" mumbled Harry. He tried to cast his mind back to the night before, but all he could remember was vague flashes of a dance floor and a pub….they had met up with some girls, but he couldn't remember the rest of it.

"Seriously Harry, you don't need to even tell me. No doubt I'll find out about where you were when I get this morning's Daily Prophet. Just tell me, is there anything I'm going to have to clean up this time?" he asked Harry, who was now blearily looking at a number scrawled down his arm in black ink.

"Blimey Harry, how do you get so lucky, eh?" laughed Ron as he watched Harry try to make sense of the number and what it meant. Harry looked up at him in confusion.

"I don't even know whose number that is" he said frowning.

Ron rolled his eyes and chose to ignore the comment.

Ron was becoming remarkably skilled at making hangover potions, and clearing up the tears and rumours that Harry had recently started leaving in his wake.

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><p>.<p>

It had started soon after the Hogwarts term commenced, or maybe even before then. Ron wasn't sure, to be honest he wasn't sure how everything had turned out the way it was.

Harry had started training at the Auror Academy with several of their year-mates who were being fast-tracked in a similar program. Ron had been thrilled at the offer, but had negotiated to do the training part time as he felt he had a lot of things to sort out at home before he could move on with his life.

If Ron had thought that getting Harry and Ginny away from each other would improve Harry's mood, he was sorely disappointed. The late nights at 'work' continued, and Ron would wake up in the night and glance over at Harry's bed only to find it empty and barely slept in. Ron suspected that Harry was staying awake all night and Hermione confirmed his suspicions when she came to stay with him for the week after Ginny left and told him that when she went to get a midnight drink of water she had seen Harry sitting on the front porch, staring out into the night.

When Ron turned up for classes at the Academy he was taken aback at the energy Harry was putting into his training. He had thought that given Harry's recent insomnia he would be tired for the physical aspects of the course, but the very first day Ron walked into the gymnasium he had been met with the sight of Harry standing centre of the room, wand out, blasting curse after curse at the practice dummies. A small crowd stood around the perimeters of the room and Ron had made his way to a face he recognised, Seamus Finnigan.

Seamus had answered Ron's questions as they both stood entranced at the sight of Harry blasting the life out of the dummies. Ron didn't think he had ever seen such a focused mindset in his best friend, and if he was honest with himself the look on Harry's face as he fought the practice dummies unnerved him. It was as if Harry was channelling a pit of fire and anger into his spellwork, and there was a chill in the air as if the warmth was being sucked up by the powerful wizard.

Ron knew Harry was powerful. It wasn't exactly a secret after all.

But seeing Harry practice was like seeing a stranger. It didn't look, didn't _feel_, like the Harry Potter he knew.

"Quite something, isn't it" remarked Seamus, nudging Ron out of his thoughts.

"Yeah….how long's he been practicing?" asked Ron, noting the sweat stained t-shirt Harry was wearing.

"Oh, at least two hours or so. He does this every day, comes down here, doesn't speak a word to anyone and just starts pummelling the dummies as if his life depends on it. We've all given up trying to practice when he comes in because, really, who'd want to get too close to that?" he said, gesturing at Harry who was currently using some sort of tornado to rip one of the dummies to shreds.

Ron nodded numbly, worried that there was something he must have missed at home. Harry wasn't exactly the kind of guy who liked talking about his emotions, but Ron had always thought he had a pretty good grip on Harry's moods.

Until now.

"Doesn't anyone stop him?" asked Ron, looking over at Seamus who stared at him with a raised eyebrow.

"What? Get between the Man-Who-Conquered and his target? Yeah right, mate!" scoffed Dean who was standing the other side of Seamus.

"Yeah but….what about the instructors?" asked Ron. "Surely they realise that Harry's mindset is a bit fragile right now? Why do they let him wear himself out like this?"

"Wear himself out?" said Seamus in disbelief. "Ron, have you met Harry? He fights until he's dead and then just gets back up again. Literally. A bit of target practice is hardly going to stop him."

Ron frowned, sensing that there was something seriously wrong with his friend but unsure how to get his point across.

In the end he shrugged and let it go, deciding to mention it to Hermione when he saw her later in the day. She would know what to do.

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

In addition to the violent practice sessions, Ron had noticed other things that suggested Harry wasn't coping quite as well as he would like others to believe.

Only a few weeks after Hogwarts had reopened Harry had announced at the dinner table that he was moving back to Grimmauld Place. Ron hadn't been at all happy with the idea, but Harry had insisted and it was, after all, Harry's house by rights. So Ron had helped him move out of his little orange bedroom at the Burrow and into Sirius' old house.

Ron had, for a while, managed to stay late enough most nights to plea tiredness and fell asleep at the house, not wanting Harry to be left alone. But eventually his list of excuses ran out, and he was forced to leave Harry to himself.

After that Ron had visited regularly, but Harry was rarely home and even when he was Ron had noticed that the levels of the firewhisky bottles were slowly diminishing. He hadn't mentioned it, but had begun to suspect Harry was finding other ways to fall asleep at night.

The late night partying was new, however. It had started innocently enough, with after-work drinks with Seamus and Dean and the others. Ron had joined them at first and they explored the nightlife of Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley – Ron was at first startled at the changes on the streets after sunset. Harry had been just as timid as Ron (at least Ron was pretty sure he had been). Neither boy had ever been the type to frequent pubs and nightclubs and at first they had hung back, watching as Dean and Seamus, seemingly much more acquainted with the lifestyle, chatted with various witches and wizards and enjoyed a variety of drinks that Ron had never even heard of.

Gradually Harry began to join in with them, and as soon as the clientele realised who Harry was, more often than not he was swarmed with witches wanting to get an autograph or, more commonly, a kiss.

Ron had, at first, been amused by their antics. That was until Harry began to lose his shyness. More than once Ron caught Harry making out with random witches behind closed doors, and soon after the media seemed to have caught on and the nights tended to end with a paparazzi chase.

Ron eventually tired of the endless nights and instead spent his nights now with Hermione, content to watch the 'telly' at her house whilst she read, or spent his evenings with her in his arms. But Harry persisted, and day by day the stories in the Prophet grew more lurid. Ron had always fancied himself a pretty non-judgemental type of guy, even a bit left-wing, but he had to raise his eyebrows at some of the things Harry was reportedly getting up to.

Hermione told Ron to mind his own business and let Harry work through his issues in his own way. Ron wasn't so sure this was the right answer, but as he didn't have any alternatives he simply let Harry be Harry, dropping by Grimmauld Place most mornings with a freshly brewed hangover potion.

He couldn't understand how the instructors at the Academy could let this go on, surely it impacted on the Academy reputation, having its young training Aurors seen as wild party boys by the press. But nobody seemed to step in, and Ron was forced to let things go on as they were, despite the rumbling concern he had for his friend.

However, Christmas was coming and Ron hoped that he would be able to get Harry to the Burrow, even for a night. He hoped that perhaps his father could step in and have a chat with Harry, man-to-man. He knew his dad saw Harry like one of his own, and he could only hope that he would be able to work his dad-magic on him.

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* * *

><p>.<p>

Harry leant forward to inspect himself in the mirror of the bathroom. Kreacher had done quite an impressive job at making the residence habitable, and the bathroom was (almost) clean of any mould.

He looked at himself in the mirror, surprised as always at the face staring back at him.

He was getting older. His face had stubble, his cheeks were starting to fill in after the gaunt look he had carried whilst on the run. At eighteen years of age Harry could see the resemblance to the pictures he had of his father at this age. But there were differences. Harry's eyes were obviously the stand-out feature, but his cheekbones were slightly higher, his face less square. And he was certain his dad had never felt the way Harry did, had never looked at anyone with the haunted expression his eyes now carried.

Harry wasn't an idiot. He knew everybody had scars from the war, and he knew he was no different. What made him angry was that he seemed to be finding it so much harder than everybody else to settle back into life. Ron and Hermione seemed to be playing happy families, the guys at the Auror Academy spent every day chatting about how exciting their new jobs would be.

And Harry knew he had absolutely no reason to feel so angry. He hadn't lost a twin like George, or a son like Mrs Weasley. He had lost friends, but so had everybody else. And everybody else seemed to be coping so much better than himself.

He hated waking up each morning. He hated opening his eyes and knowing that it was going to be another whole day before he got the reprieve that sleep allowed him.

And even worse was that he hated going to sleep, because every time he tried he was haunted by flashes those he should have saved. Every night he would end up wandering the dark hallways of Grimmauld Place, waiting for exhaustion to take him into sleep. Because if he wasn't completely dead on his feet when he went to sleep then he was guaranteed to have nightmares, and it was a toss up as to what was worse – the dread of facing a new day, or the dread of facing a new nightmare. They were both equal in his book.

Meanwhile the Ministry seemed to be using him as some sort of idol for the general public. He was getting tired of finding articles about legislation that had been "endorsed by Harry Potter" when he was never sure how he had ever endorsed anything. He went along to meetings but had a feeling he was simply there to be a Ministry stamp. A recent article had described how Harry had single-handedly captured an escaped death eater. The truth was Harry had been having lunch with some of his Auror Academy classmates and their trainers and had spotted a face he had recognised from the war, had pointed it out to his training master, and the death eater had been captured without any trouble. It was a pretty uneventful capture in Harry's book, but the media had pounced on it and twisted the story around so that Harry looked like some sort of medieval knight.

He was, in essence, the new Ministry Posterboy.

And he hated it.

Last week he had been forced to go to some posh party for an elderly Wizard, and was then suddenly on stage handing out awards. Nobody seemed to want him for Harry, they only wanted the Man-Who-Conquered.

Harry knew his recent behaviour was out of character, but he couldn't help himself. It gave him a bit of a thrill knowing that despite the amount of control the Ministry had over him, that they couldn't control him all the time. That despite the best efforts of Kingsley and his Ministry co-workers, Harry was able to go and get drunk and make headlines purely of his own accord.

It was something that was _his_.

He knew Ron was worried. Hermione no doubt disapproved. But the two of them had been left alone for the most part. They hadn't really had to deal with the really big issues. Things like the pardoning of Snape had been all him. Nobody had wanted to defend the old Potions Master. Ron and Hermione still weren't convinced of his innocence, and no matter what Harry told them they didn't seem keen to pursue it.

Harry had been pushing for Snape to be honoured amongst the fallen, and although he hadn't achieved this goal yet he was determined to succeed.

Ron and Hermione also didn't have to deal with people asking him questions like whether he thought the political party system of the Ministry needed changing, and if so then in what way. Or whether he thought the Flannigan family from the Cotswolds should be given an extra vote in the Wizengamot.

Harry felt so incredibly out of his depth most of the time it was the most he could do to simply nod. He had no idea about political systems, or legislation, or policy formation. He had no idea about paperwork and bills and voting structures. Give him an enemy to fight and he would do well enough, but when it came to important things like the political system of the wizarding world, well, Harry would rather stay on the sidelines thankyou very much.

But no matter how hard he protested it was still him, the Man-Who-Conquered, The Chosen One, the Boy-Who-Lived-Again, who was asked to give the final word in any situation.

And he _hated_ it.

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><p>.<p>

_**So that's the end of that chapter. I've already drafted the next couple, but how fast I post will depend on how well the characters and I can work things out. Sometimes they're really talkative, and at other times all I get is silence. Sigh!**_

_**Remember, please read and review.**_

_**xoxo**_


	5. Chapter 5 - Christmas

**Chapter 5 - Christmas Morning**

**I know. I'm a TERRIBLE person! I haven't updated this story in so long. I know it sounds odd but I sort of 'lost' one of the characters for a while….as you will see in the following chapter, and I wasn't sure where they went. But I've found them now, so hopefully they stay with me as I keep pushing ahead with the story.**

**This story remains un-beta-ed, so if there are any mistakes then I apologise.**

**Again, please send in your reviews. I have no idea whether people like my story unless you say you do, and I think any author can agree that reviews are a good motivator….so if you want me to keep writing then I suggest you dangle that carrot!**

**HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPH**

**HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPH**

Ginny opened her eyes slowly, enjoying the luxury of being able to wake up without the rustle of the other girls in the dormitory as they hurried about their morning routines.

She stretched, reaching as far as she could up the bed and as far down as her toes would allow. One of the best parts of being the last child to attend school was that her mother was treating her like royalty during vacation. She had been allowed to sleep in _every_ morning, had been treated to all her favourite foods, and her mother had even ignored (albeit with a raised eyebrow) most of the sharp-edged words she inevitably let slip when her temper started in on any of her brothers.

And now it was Christmas.

Christmas day in the Weasley household traditionally consisted of an early morning wake-up prank courtesy of the twins, followed by hungry mouths gulping down breakfast before showing their empty tongues to their mother. Molly Weasley would check that everybody was sufficed with empty mouths and then, only then, would they be allowed into the lounge with the presents.

It was an ingenious ploy on the part of the Weasley matriarch. With seven children Christmas had always been a rather hectic affair, and any pretence of order within the family would be lost as soon as the first wrapping was torn. As such, she had long ago established the unwritten rules of Christmas day, including ensuring all children had at least one meal sans sweets in the morning.

This year, Ginny knew, would be different.

There would be no pranks to wake her up this morning. It was debatable as to whether the remaining Weasley twin would even show his face for the day, and Ginny didn't blame him. The loss of Fred was still heavy in her heart, and every day she was faced with reminders of her brother, whether it was a particular turn of phrase she heard or even if it was a joke that she tucked away to remember to tell the pair when she next saw them.

She had always hated the way her brothers would wake her up early. Even if it _was_ Christmas, nobody wants to wake to a bucket of green slime ready to tip, or to the soft licks of a smelly old sheep with a Santa hat on their pillow.

But now, looking back, Ginny wished for nothing more than to have those moments again. Nothing more than to be able to yell and scream at the twins as they pulled faces at each other and pretended to be deaf.

It was funny the things you only missed when they were gone.

Ginny rubbed the sleep from her eyes, not wanting to dwell on such sad memories any longer. Her fingers brushed the hair from her eyes as she checked the window to see if any snow had landed overnight. Winter at the Burrow could be truly magical, in every sense of the word. Some winters her father animated the snowmen that she created with her brothers, and they would have snowball fights against the snow-army long after the sun had set in the evening.

The snow outside was fresh, powder laced her window sill and she grinned with delight before jumping out of bed.

It was Christmas!

Ginny raced down the stairs, ignoring Hermione's indignant huff as she barrelled past the brunette almost knocking her down on her way.

She raced to the front door, hopping the last few metres as she tugged on her wellies and, finally, banging the door loudly open to let the cold winter air flow past her.

It was a moment she relished every year, immersing herself in the first Christmas snow.

She ran outside and around into the back garden, making her way to the snow-covered grass. The snow was so deep here that it was almost impossible to walk through, but Ginny trudged through determined to keep this one Christmas ritual alive, even if nothing else remained the same.

Finally, making it to a small rise in the landscape she leapt, flipping herself midway through her jump. She landed on her back, sinking into the deep snow layer. Ginny couldn't keep the grin from her face as she felt the icy cushion around her, and she stretched her arms as far as she could before flapping them like an angel.

Her Christmas snow angel.

Every year Ginny did this. Made a Christmas snow angel in the Christmas snow. It was a constant, and a reminder that not everything was tinged with darkness, no matter how it might seem later in the day. She would be able to look outside the window and see her snow angel on the small hill.

After feeling like she had made enough of an imprint Ginny gingerly got to her feet, careful to not disturb the impression of an angel below her.

She grinned as she looked down at it, before quickly realising just how _cold_ she was now that she was drenched in icy water. She shivered, the cold quickly seeping its way through to her bones.

Ginny shivered again, making her way back to the house where she knew her brothers would have left the bathroom free for her, well aware of her Christmas morning tradition and equally as aware of what Ginny would do to them if they didn't let her have the first hot water of the day to soak away the icy coolness of the snow.

**HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPH**

**HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPH**

Ron sighed and rolled over. The warm body beside him shuffled a little before settling down once again into his arms. He smiled into the head of hair, escaped hairs from the plaits Hermione had worn to bed tickled his nose and Ron grinned despite himself.

It was Christmas morning.

He was in Hermione's bed.

There was a part of Ron that wanted to stay here forever, wanted to lie back down next to his girlfriend, let her rest her head on his chest, and let the world outside fade away. Sometimes he felt exactly that, as if the world outside really _had_ faded away. Sometimes when he was with Hermione it felt as if nothing outside their little bubble of happiness existed.

But there was an even larger part of Ron that knew if his mother was to find them in bed together there would be hell to pay. In fact, Ron didn't even want to imagine the tirade his mother would unleash if she walked into Hermione's room at that moment. It was pretty obvious that they had spent the night together, and more obvious was the fact that neither was wearing pyjamas.

He grinned again, a giant, cheesy grin that he knew Harry would tease him mercilessly about if he were to ever see it.

And as quickly as the grin had formed Ron felt it fall of his face in an instant.

Maybe the Harry he had once known _would_ have teased him about his goofy grin, but the Harry he knew _now_ would probably not even notice that Ron was even in the same room.

And today was Christmas. Ron had invited Harry to the Weasley Christmas lunch, had threatened and cajoled in equal turns. But Ron had a very strong suspicion that the other wizard would never make an appearance today. He shuddered to think what Harry might actually be getting up to. It was a toss up between whether Harry would sit at home in the dark of Grimmauld Place drinking the day away, or whether he would go out to some muggle nightclub and let himself drown amongst a mixture of seedy characters.

Ron sighed heavily. No matter what way you looked at it, Harry was on a downhill slope, and Ron really didn't want to see where rock-bottom would be for his best mate.

Hermione made a small sound and buried her face in her pillow. Ron smiled, brushing the hair from her neck as he left a kiss on her shoulder before climbing out of bed and finding his discarded pyjama bottoms.

He nudged the door open ever so slightly, peering around the corner for any sign of his parents. The hallway was clear and Ron made a speedy escape up the staircase, past his sisters room and towards his own bedroom. He was extra-cautious around the creaky third step, knowing that if he was caught now then the game was over.

He made it to his room in one piece, slipping inside the door before climbing back into bed. Just because he had to get up early to sneak out of his girlfriend's bedroom didn't mean he couldn't sleep in.

Even if it _was_ Christmas.

**HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPH**

****HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPH****

Hermione opened her eyes blearily as she took in her surroundings. The sheets beside her were still slightly warm, so she suspected it hadn't been long since Ron had made his morning exit.

She smiled, allowing herself the girlish pleasure of curling her toes at the memory of last night.

She _loved_ having a boyfriend!

She sighed and turned onto her stomach, stretching out between the sheets before letting her brain start its' ticking for the day. It was Christmas.

It was Christmas!

It was hard to believe that an entire year had passed since that last horrendous Christmas at Godric's Hollow. So much had happened since then. The war had been won. Voldemort had been defeated. She and Ron had (finally!) gotten together.

Harry had been slowly self-destructing.

She sighed, and rolled over once more so that she was staring at the ceiling. She allowed herself several minutes to wallow on the problem of her best friend. She wasn't at all sure how to tackle him. After the war, after she had brought her parents back from Australia, Hermione had gone straight to the bookstore in Muggle London and stocked up on books about post-war psychology and post-traumatic stress disorder. She knew she would probably experience her own psychological trauma after everything that had happened to her and she had been determined to be prepared.

Surprisingly, aside from a few nightmares, she hadn't experienced too many of the symptoms she had read about.

Harry, however…

She sighed again as she started getting up from bed, pulling on her slippers from beneath the nearby cupboard. Harry was a mess. She wasn't even sure how things had gotten to their current state.

She knew Ron visited Harry daily, and she herself tried to visit him at Grimmauld Place several times per week. But each time she would turn up, biting her tongue at the empty bottles of alcohol scattered around the place, determined to refrain from mentioning the many things she was reading about him in the daily papers.

_Oh Harry!_

Every day brought new stories, new side comments in the editorials that made mention of the scandals he was repeatedly getting himself into. Last week he had been spotted drinking with a group of scantily clad part-Veela women….Hermione didn't need to read to article to know what he had later been seen doing with them.

She had been worried at first that Harry would sink into a depression. He certainly had a history of lapsing into week-long broody silences. Instead he seemed to have developed a party-lifestyle that her books referred to as 'reckless behaviour'. And it was. There was a part of Hermione that still lived in the midst of war, and she couldn't help but fear for her friend should he be caught in a drunken stupor by one of the many Death Eaters still on the loose.

She had mentioned this to him once a few weeks ago. In response he had shut the door in her face.

She sighed again, tightening the dressing-gown sash around her waist.

Later today she would be floo-ing to her parents house to pick them up and bring them back to the Burrow for Christmas. Her relationship was still rocky with her parents, and she was trying to spend as much time as she could with them. Even so, there was an underlying element of distrust in their eyes whenever they spoke to her, and she knew she had planted a seed within them that darkened their view of her magical world.

This morning however, she was determined to make her way over to Grimmauld Place and haul Harry back to the Burrow no matter what. She knew Ron would likely sleep for several more hours, and she thought that ideally she should head over to Harry's now before Ron woke up, as Harry had a way of provoking Ron into a temper when he wanted to, and Hermione considered herself the more level-headed one of the trio.

She found herself some jeans and a jumper to wear and quietly made her way down the stairs

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It was freezing out in the street outside Grimmauld Place. Hermione wrapped herself tightly in her scarf, breathing into it to warm up her face. Snow lined the pavement, and Hermione smiled to see a small snowman that had obviously been built by the owner of the red tricycle in the front yard next to Harry's place. It was a lovely little street, she thought to herself as she looked around her as the two story house appeared in front of her.

Sirius' old house-elf, Kretcher, had certainly improved the outward appearance of Grimmauld Place since Harry had helped him come to terms with his old master's death. No longer were cobwebs stranding the outside pillars, and Hermione couldn't help but be thankful that the old crusty house-elf was there for Harry when he wouldn't allow anyone else to be.

She quickly reached into her shoulder bag to fetch the Christmas hat she had brought with her, hoping to fetch a grin onto her friend's face at her antics. She pulled it over her bushy hair as she rang the doorbell.

There was silence behind the door. She waited, counting silently up to sixty before ringing it again.

Once again no sound of life came from behind the door, and instantly her hackles rose, she found herself automatically back into war-mode as she rang the doorbell for a third time, this time keeping her eyes sharp for any movement around her.

No sound came from the house, and she decided that it was logical she should use her spare key to enter. She quickly opened the door to find the hallway empty and quiet.

Hermione pulled out her wand, cursing herself under her breath for deciding to fetch Harry alone. She should have brought Ron with her.

With that thought she quickly summoned her patronus, whispering a quick message to Ron for the otter to relay before sending it on its way.

Her breath came in small puffs of steam as she made her way slowly up the hallway, trying to keep quiet and keeping an ear out for any sounds from within the house.

It was silent.

She rounded the corner into the main living room, but there were no lights on and no fire within the fireplace that might suggest somebody was home. She quickly passed through the rooms to find Harry's…his bed was still made and had obviously not been slept in.

A sound behind her made her start, she jumped and pulled out her wand aiming it towards the noise. She found herself holding her wand at the forehead of Kretcher and quickly lowered it.

Kretcher cowered beneath her, muttering in the low grumbling tone that always unnerved her (it didn't help that when she first met him he had constantly called her 'mudblood' under his breath).

"Kretcher, did Harry come home last night?" she asked the elf, worried that perhaps Harry hadn't been seen since the previous day.

"No Miss. Master Harry hasn't been home since Tuesday" he told her, still cowering at her feet.

"Tuesday?" she repeated, her voice rising in pitch. "And you didn't think to tell anyone?" she demanded of the elf, angry that her friend had potentially been missing for two nights without her knowledge.

There were a myriad of possibilities for where Harry could be. She knew she should treat the situation logically, and that the most likely scenario was that Harry had (unsurprisingly) gotten drunk with one of his Auror buddies and had spent the nights at their place. However, her mind instantly began to summon images of Harry captured, imprisoned by deranged Death Eaters intent on revenge. Images of Harry trapped in dungeons like that of Malfoy Manor.

Hermione's breath hitched as she tried to brush away the imaginings.

It wasn't long before she heard footsteps running down the hallway, Ron barging into the room with his wand drawn, still in his pyjamas with a windcheater thrown over his shoulders, hair mussed to signify his newly-wakened state. His eyes were wide and he was panting heavily.

Hermione was incredibly glad to see him.

"Ron! Harry's not here!" Hermione was beginning to feel frantic at the possible reasons why Harry might not be at home.

Ron looked around, confusion evident on his face which was both a mixture of the early-morning confused look he usually wore in the mornings as well as an underlying element of fear as the possibilities Harry's whereabouts began to dawn on him.

"It's probably nothing to get too worried about Hermione. You know how he's been lately" Ron said in a voice that suggested he was trying to reassure himself as much as his girlfriend.

"Probably" nodded Hermione, who couldn't help the palpitations in her chest or the way her breath was slightly hitching at each intake. She could tell she was on the verge of panic, and she forced herself to take several deep long breaths to calm herself.

"Does Kretcher know where he is?" asked Ron, looking around for the mangy house-elf.

"Harry hasn't been since Tuesday….Ron, That's two days ago!" said Hermione.

Ron nodded, still getting his bearings while standing armed and ready in the centre of the room.

"Right…right" he nodded, and Hermione watched as Ron's brain began ticking again. He had always been the better of the two when it came to making proper game-plans, it was why the three of them had always been such a good force, because they all knew each others strengths and weaknesses, and they knew how to use them.

"Right. Its probably nothing, but it _might_ be something. So Hermione, you stay here at Grimmauld Place and give it a good once-over to make sure he hasn't, like, passed out in an alcoholic stupor and gotten stuck down a drain or up the chimney or something. I'll head back to the Burrow and get some of the others and we'll do a round of the pubs and the Auror guys to see if he's been crashing on anyone's couches. Then we'll meet back in an hour at the Burrow, okay? Send your patronus if you find him, or if you run into trouble." said Ron, sounding much surer than he actually felt.

Hermione nodded, glad to have a plan to follow. She went to give Ron a quick peck on the cheek, but Ron turned instead and caught her in his arms and gave her a longer kiss than she had originally intended.

"I'm sure he's fine 'Mione. He's just trying to scrooge his way out of Christmas" Ron said, holding her tight and giving a final kiss to her forehead.

Hermione nodded and gave him one last squeeze before setting off to search the manor.

Ron turned back towards the fireplace.

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It didn't take long for Ron to gather together Bill, Fleur and Charlie. Bill and Charlie had arrived for the Christmas celebrations and Ron quickly related their Harry problem. Fleur had demanded to be involved in the search party, and Ron (who was still somewhat tongue-tied when the part-Veela started to become emotional) left it up to Bill whether she should help in the search.

They quickly agreed to keep the news from their parents, from George and also from Ginny – although Ginny was soon found eaves-dropping out in the hallway and demanded to be involved as well.

In the end there were the five of them from the Burrow, in addition to Hermione who was still at Grimmauld Place, and they designated various friends to be doorknocked in the search for Harry.

Ron agreed to go back to Grimmauld Place to let Hermione know of the developments, and he would subsequently coordinate the search from there. Ginny teamed up with Charlie whilst Bill and Fleur were automatically considered a pair for obvious reasons.

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Ginny waved a goodbye to a very red-faced Neville who was spending his Christmas at Hannah Abbott's house in Nottingham (much to Ginny's surprise). She grinned and blew him a kiss as he started to close the door, and she laughed when he rolled his eyes.

She and Neville had been through a lot together, and she was glad to see he was moving on with his life. She remembered him spending quite a bit of time with Hannah during the previous year, and Hannah had been one of the more capable students in the DA and had fought bravely alongside them all at the Battle of Hogwarts.

It was a good match, Ginny decided. If slightly out of the blue….she had always harboured a secret desire to see Neville matched up with Luna. She had always thought that her shy Yule Ball partner would be drawn out of his shell by her friend's crazy antics…but it seemed as if he hadn't needed a push at all! Good on him!

She linked arms with Charlie as they walked down the busy street towards an empty park from which they would Apparate to their next destination. She hadn't seen much of Charlie over the past couple of years. Not since he had left on his adventures overseas.

He was nine years older than her, so he had been well into his Hogwarts years by the time she was old enough to be more than just a brattish little sister.

Even so, she had always _adored_ Charlie. Both he and Bill had always doted upon her when she was a little girl, sending her letters from Hogwarts back when she had been so jealous at being left behind, spending hours with her planning revenge on the twins' pranks or hiding her from her mother when she was in trouble.

Charlie obviously noticed her thoughtful silence and gave her a friendly nudge as they walked along the little road. Ginny grinned up at him, once again eternally grateful that she had the family she had. Especially at this time of year.

And with that thought it suddenly hit Ginny where Harry might be.

Christmas was a time for family. Harry would probably be with his.

She stopped walking, and it took Charlie several steps before he realised that Ginny had come to a halt. He looked back at her, suddenly alert, wand drawn and stance ready as he glanced around their surroundings trying to identify what had caused the sudden stop.

"Charlie…where's Godric's Hollow?"

Charlie raised an eyebrow as he looked at Ginny, obviously trying to detect the meaning beneath her tone.

"South" he said, brow creasing into a frown as he connected the dots.

"You don't think…" he trailed off.

"It's a long shot I guess, but it's Christmas. Isn't that why you're back at the Burrow? To Spend time with family?" Ginny pointed out.

"Yeah, but…" Charlie found himself catching up with what Ginny was saying.

"Okay, hold tight Gin. I'm pretty sure I remember the place, it's been a while since I visited the Potter House."

Ginny grabbed Charlie's arm, hating the reminder that Harry's childhood home was obviously a tourist destination now. She herself had never been, but when she had been younger she had begged her parents to take her to Godric's Hollow to see where The-Boy-Who-Lived had lived. She internally cringed at her younger self's obsession with Harry.

She held her breath as Charlie turned, apparating them both to an area of England she had never visited but had often thought about.

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**So that's it, folks. Bring on the carrots, mouldy or not!**


End file.
